


Three steps forward (then back again)

by courgette96



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Pre-Thor (2011), Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Plying with Alcohol, Pre-Thor (2011), Some references to addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courgette96/pseuds/courgette96
Summary: When Loki first attempts to worldwalk, he pays the price of too much arrogance. He trips. He falls.He lands in Sakaar. He meets the Grandmaster.He keeps on falling.





	Three steps forward (then back again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mousieta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mousieta/gifts).

> Okay, so, over a year ago, the most wonderful person in the world - also known as mousiesshi - knit me a hat for no reason at all other than that they are that kind and thoughtful. I, lacking any sort of manual skill, really wanted to repay the favor.
> 
> This fic is a gift to them, a year later, because this past year has been a nightmare at the end of which I graduated med school (!!). Anyway, thank you so much mousiesshi, for being so patient, kind, and supportive even throughout my sporadic presence all throughout the year. <3

Asgard is the shining beacon of the Nine Realms, the height of power and the greatest of kingdoms. Eternal. Absolute.

So very dull at times.

Loki loves his home. He is proud to be its Prince.

He chaffs at the restrictions that come with the position, finds himself often seized with an urge to wander and roam, departure sudden and return pushed back to an uncertain time.

His parents indulge him, at times, and put the Bifrost at his disposal. Loki is grateful in the moment.

At times they refuse him. Loki resents them for far longer.

It was inevitable, then, that he would take matters into his own hand. If he could not rely on the King’s permission, then he would simply do as he pleases and ask for forgiveness after the fact. That arrangement would suit him far better, and when one session of late-night reading reveales to him the existence of hidden paths between the Realms, when Loki realizes that he has not only the knowledge but the capacity…

Well, it was almost as if the Norns themselves had placed the book in Loki’s hands. Such a skill seemed to call to the very core of his magic, and the secrecy of the paths was like honey to his very nature.

And the alternative? To be ever under the gatekeeper’s watchful eye, to be dependent on the Bifrost and his father’s permission…

No, Loki could never have abided that for long.

So, on the afternoon of an utterly unremarkable day, in the privacy of his own chambers, he attempts the leap.

It will be easy, he thinks. He has skill enough for it. It will be a feat, one he will never be able to brag about.

With a determined nod, he slips through the paths between words, onto the branches of Yggdrasill itself, where the very Universe sings around him.

In that moment, he feels all powerful. The greatest sorcerer of the greatest of Realms.

He laughs in delight and takes an eager, careless step forward onto a path that is not truly meant to be trod on, resting his steps on a branch that is not truly a branch.

It is no wonder then that he slips, and stumbles through the cracks.

He falls.

**~*~**

Between the fall and the landing, there is a long time that might pass; an infinity, in most cases.

More so still when falling through the Void.

It is a horrible, horrible place. Made of pitch darkness and blinding colors, absolute silence, and _things_ crawling in the darkness. They’re indescribable, these _things_; they have never been seen before. Everyone knows they are there.

In the end, Loki won’t even remember it. It is a blessing, really, but that would become hard to remember over time.

Not all horrible things are found in the Void, after all.

~*~

“Gee, honey,” a voice says from above him, speaking in stretched vowels and halting sentences. “You, uh, you sure know how to make an entrance.”

Loki’s eyes crack open as consciousness slowly comes back to him – though when he had lost it, he could not say. His mind supplies the image of the silver and obsidian World Tree, of a step and a fall, and now…

This. Wherever he was. From his place on the ground, all he can see is a pair of feet clad in sandals and a floor of such a bright, garish hue of orange it makes him want to close his eyes shut once more.

“What…?” he asks, pushing himself up. Or at least he tries too; as soon as he braces himself onto his arms, his vision spins and his elbows shake, his weight supported by sheer stubbornness alone. “Where in the Ni-_nggh..._”

“Easy there, tiger,” the voice says again, and a hand grabs his shoulder to steady him. The contact is like a shock sent directly into Loki’s mind: his vision clears instantly. “I went through all this trouble getting you running again. Don’t go ruining it for me.”

Looking up, Loki can now associate the voice with a face. Tan skin and silver hair, slightly sunken eyes that should give of the impression of old age but somehow do not. Blue makeup lines his eyes and traces down his chin, matching the lining of his golden robes. There are hints of red thrown in the clash of colors as well. The appearance is distinct, to say the least, and Loki absolutely does not recognize it despite his extensive knowledge of the cultures and customs of foreign Realms.

Norns, where in Hel _is _he? Is he even in the Nine, still?

(That second one was a valid concern, and not one everyone would immediately think of raising. Not all of Loki’s instincts are bad.)

And then the man words finally register in Loki’s brain; he frowns in confusion. “I… I’m sorry?”

“Well, you’d better be!” The man’s smile is bright and cheery, eyes sparkling with mirth; the two don’t seem to go together, somehow. “You, uh, you just fell out of my ceiling and onto my table – a _nice _table too. And you were screaming, and clutching your head – really, honey, are you always a screamer? – so there was no getting an apology out of you. So you were fixed by yours truly. Feel free to thank me any time now. You can call me Grandmaster when you do.”

Loki blinks; he has been doing that a lot. “Beg your pardon?”

_Idiot_, his mind hisses at him, and it takes some effort not to wince in agreement. He sounds like a witless fool, probably looks like one as well. _Do not display your ignorance so freely_

“Still loopy, huh?” The Grandmaster nods his head, as if in compassion. “Well, uh, that might be my bad. Maybe I was a bit to heavy handed? But, uh, like I said honey, you _really _needed to calm down. Might have gotten hurt if I hadn’t intervened.”

Loki’s first reaction is to recoil, his still disoriented mind finally piecing together the meaning behind the Grandmaster’s words.

_He used seidr upon you, you were unconscious, and he cast a working, you were defenseless you idiot, idiot, absolute - _

He halts the thought as forcefully as he could, straining with the effort to let nothing transpire. Norns, what is the matter with him?! He has never been prone to such hysterics before!

And yet, his mind feels raw, almost frayed. His spirit is shaken in ways he cannot explain, his mind unable to form a coherent picture of the events surrounding him.

And throughout it all, the Grandmaster watches Loki, smile still in place, waiting upon Loki’s reaction with unnatural patience. 

There is a crowd around them that Loki had not noticed before, filled with people of different species, all dressed as garishly as the Grandmaster. How strange that such an eclectic crowd could fade into the background whilst one man could make himself the sole object of attention.

Loki takes a deep breath and forces himself to assess what he knows of the situation.

He had meant to walk the paths between the realms. That had… not gone as expected. He can remember the metaphorical branch snapping underneath his feet. He remembers tripping. He must have fallen of off Yggdrasil. He must have ended up in the Void.

Norns, it was such a strange thought to consider; he knows it must have happened – there is no other fate to await someone who veers to far off the path. Loki had been certain he would not meet such a fate, yet tripped he had, and he had no memory of the rest.

Had he lost consciousness then?

It seemed a reasonable assumption. Little is known of the Void around the worlds, but what knowledge has been garnered is filled with fearsome indeed. If Loki had indeed been in there…

_And if he had fallen, it was a miracle that he had even landed anywhere, _his mind unhelpfully supplied. _There is far more Void than worlds in the Universe. _

Loki shivers at the mere thought. Perhaps it is for the best that he has no memory of that place.

The Grandmaster – such a peculiar name – had cast a working upon him. To calm him, and it is true that Loki had seen such things done before in the healing chambers when soldiers were too agitated to receive treatment. The Grandmaster had freely admitted to it as well, which was… somewhat reassuring. Not enough to completely assuage Loki’s worries, but it is a start. Moreover, after directing his sense inwards, he can find no trace of any sort of working. His mental barriers are intact as ever.

So, he’s fine. No true danger here.

Now, if he could only parse out where “here” is, he could find his way back to Asgard before anyone notices his absence.

“I see,” he says at last, words forced out of him by a too long stretch of silence and the Grandmaster’s expectant stare. “Thank you, Grandmaster.”

The Grandmaster’s smile does not fade, but nor does it widen; its stillness is unnatural. “You know, this is usually the moment when you give me _your _name.”

Well, there was little way of avoiding that. “I am Loki.” _Of Asgard,_ Loki almost adds out of habit, barely managing to restrain himself in time.

No use in giving such information, not when he was still so unsure of his present situation.

“Loki,” the Grandmaster repeats, stretching the vowel as if to taste it, before grinning once more. “Also, you’re very welcome. You know, I saw you and I just thought “he’s too pretty to leave like that.” Didn’t I say that folks?” he asks, looking at the gathered crowd. He turns back towards Loki before receiving any sort of answer. “Aaaaanyway, I saved you even though you ruined my party, sooooo… How are you going to make it up to me?” He barely lets any time for Loki to stare blankly, before letting out a giggle. “I’m joking! It was a good one, no?” he asks, looking around again.

The audience laughs on cue.

Satisfied, the Grandmaster turns towards Loki once more, lips pulling into a light pout. “Are you always so serious?”

“Of course. A joke,” Loki replies slowly, and something within his mind shifts. 

Old habits finally kick in, the lingering confusion fades away, and Loki is no longer hindered by his strange circumstances and surrounding to see exactly what situation he is facing: a ruler eager to entertain himself; a court ready to fulfill his whims; himself, temporarily the center of attention, his early fumbling not enough to provoke his host’s ire. 

He knows how to behave himself here. He has done as much for his entire life.

This should be easy enough.

(Much later, he would reflect that _of course _it was easy. What point is there in laying a trap if the prey can never creep in in the first place?)

Loki allows a practice grin to slip on his face, both self-deprecating and mischievous; it has charmed more than one head of state before. “My apologies. I hate that I am making such a poor impression on such a generous host.”

“I _am _generous, thanks for noticing!”

Loki soldiers on. “Perhaps even generous enough to put my poor manner on account of the fall? I am told I can be quite charming when I am not falling through cracks between the Realm.” Norns, it is still so strange to think that is what happened. How close to madness did he come to?

The Grandmaster stares at him for a beat, before the grin is back in place. “Oh, I can’t be mad. That smile is just to wining,” he tittered, batting his eyelashes. He extends his hand. “Now, come on up! It’s too early in the party to be on the floor!”

And it is only then that Loki realizes that he had indeed been on the floor this entire time. Pushing down the embarrassment he feels rising, he takes the offered hand to pull himself up.

No sooner does he have Loki back on his feet that the Grandmaster links their arms together and proceeds to guide him through the room.

“You’ll love it here, Lolo, let me tell you. I mean, who wouldn’t, right? We have – well, _I _have – everything you need. There is a bar over here, another one over there, though if you want a mean cocktail just let me know because I’ve been coming up with some new one – _wew_, real kickers, let me tell you. Or just ask – well, can’t remember his name right now but…”

Loki lets him ramble on, only half listening as he gazes around the room. They are just as garish upon a second look, so he focuses on the crowd. It parts before them with incredible fluidity. None approaches them. The Grandmaster graces Loki with an ecstatic smile, and Loki lets himself visibly preen.

_This will go well,_ he thinks happily.

He is sure of it He feels far better now. His steps are lighter than they have been in a long time, his mind feels sharper. The Grandmaster’s voice is still droning in his ears, and Loki is content with letting him speak and guide them both as he takes in his surroundings, takes the measure of potential threats and smile at them with his spirits high and his magic humming in his chest.

“You’re not even listening, are you?”

The Grandmaster’s voice yanks him back towards the present moment. “My apologies,” Loki says smoothly, blinking away the lingering daze. “I was quite taken by the decor. It is so different from what I’ve seen before.”

“Really? Well, you’ll never guess… I’ve designed it! Actually, I, uh, I created almost everything here. And what isn’t me is done by people who work for me, so, uh, same thing really.”

“It is remarkable,” Loki replies in a suitably impressed tone. “More so when considering how busy a man of your status must be.”

“I am! I mean, just… just so much to do here. The parties, the pit. Scraping a few scrappers when they stop providing. And all those pardons!” The Grandmaster sighs happily. “I have to say, Lolo, it’s, uh, it’s nice to hear that kind of thing. Most people don’t appreciate what I do for them.”

Loki hasn’t understood a third of what that man is referring to. It doesn’t stop him from nodding compassionately. “Such is the burden of rule, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” the Grandmaster hums in agreement. “Spoken like someone who knows a thing or two about being in charge.”

“I have some experience, I suppose.”

“I bet! Are you a, uh, a City Council president back home?”

“Not quite,” Loki replies, aiming for a suitably humble expression even as he resists gritting his teeth at the insult.

The Grandmaster’s ever shifting moods prove true once again; his features shift into an almost pitiful pout. “Aw, come on, Lolo, don’t make me guess!” And just as quickly as it appeared, the pout is gone, replaced once more by a wide grin and gleaming eyes. “I just… I’m not in the mood for that right now. So, tell me.” He tilts his head to the side; he hasn’t blinked in some time now. “And don’t even _try _to lie, I’ll just sniff that right out,” he finishes with a wink.

And of course, that is when Loki wants to lie more than anything. It is the safer option, no need to play that card until needed. He has entire stories already ready for such occasions, has made use of them more than once during his more disreputable wanderings. The Grandmaster is hardly the first to be able to spot a lie.

But… Loki believes him.

(God of Lies indeed. Again, not all of his instincts are bad.)

It isn’t a loss, he rationalizes. A secret only makes sense if it the truth is detrimental, and there is little sign it would be the was here. The Grandmaster obviously likes opulence. This admission is more likely to work out in his favor. “I am a Prince.”

“A prince!” The Grandmaster whistles. “Now that… That is exciting. Haven’t met a Prince in… how long has it been, Topaz?” he asks, looking back at the woman in heavy armor who had been trailing behind them silently.

She grunts. “Five centuries.”

The Grandmaster’s eyes widen. “Really?” he asks, letting go off Loki to turn towards her fully.

Loki bristles at that.

“Yes.” Topaz doesn’t even acknowledge him.

Loki bristles even more.

“Huh,” the Grandmaster says, blinking in confusion. “I could have sworn he was just… Well, what happened to him?”

“You gave him a job.”

“Oh, right, right!” He turns back towards Loki. “Where are you a prince from? You didn’t say. And, uhm… I _did _ just tell you not to keep me guessing, you know?”

Loki needs to take a step back from bristling to think of a quick reply “Perhaps I was merely withholding information to entice you?”

Not his wittiest recovery, but it works well enough. The Grandmaster is easily charmed, it seems.

“Oh, honey,” he coos, laying his hand over the back of Loki’s. “No need for that, Lolo. You are, uh, plenty enticing already. Besides, you need to tell me, sweetheart. Otherwise how else will I help you get back home?”

Loki blinks. “I had not realized this is what we were discussing.”

Or rather, he had meant to bring up the subject, but hadn’t thought it would be so easy. To find his way back to Asgard, he would need the precise location of this planet; it was the only way to properly forge a path between the two. He had planned on requesting some sort of assistance from the Grandmaster but had fully expected it to take no small amount of charm and cajoling.

Then again, perhaps the Grandmaster is simply an easily charmed person.

Loki will not complain; this is all going _very_ well.

“Really? What did you think this was about? Or do you want to stay? Topaz, Loki wants to stay, can you prepare a room? I’m thinking blue and-”

“Ah, that will not be necessary,” Loki interrupts as politely as he can. “As you said, it is best that I return promptly.”

“Did I say that? Uh. Well, uh…You sure you can’t stay a little bit longer?” The Grandmaster winks. “I’ll make sure you get home in one piece.”

The hand resting upon his starts stroking the back of his hand, the sensation far more pleasant than it ought to be. It is too forward a gesture, but certainly eloquent. Insistant, even.

It has been quite some time since anyone has been so adamant Loki remain on their company.

He looks around at this place, so very different from anything he has seen before. More than likely a little dangerous. Absolutely foreign. Thor would certainly have never been here before.

It seems a shame not to enjoy it while it lasts.

“Well, perhaps a couple hours or so…” he says, making a show of allowing himself to be swayed. “As long as my absence is not noticed. I did not exactly leave through the main gate, as it were.”

“Oh, naughty, I _like _that,” the Grandmaster purrs. “Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. Help you pull one over the old man. Still need to know where you’re from, darling.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki answers. Well, now that he has elected to accept the Grandmaster’s help… “Asgard. I am the prince of Asgard.”

(Later, Loki will mull over this first meeting, and realize it had taken only ten minutes for him to break his resolve to say nothing; he will scream in his pillow.)

“Asgard,” the Grandmaster repeats, stretching the “a”s to an almost comic degree. “Never heard of it.”

Loki’s stomach drops. “Ah,” he says dumbly.

Well, it had probably been too great a hope anyway.

The Grandmaster notices his dimed spirits immediately, and frowns. “Oh, did you think…? Oh, no, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I don’t need to know where it is for me to send you there. It’s just nicer to know the name of the place.”

Loki blinks. “You do not?”

“Nope!” the Grandmaster replies, lips popping around the “p”. “No map, no GPS, no nothing. I just, uh, just need to do it.”

“But that…” Loki starts, stops, stares. Myriads of fundamental magic theories go through his mind; none support the Grandmaster’s claim. “That is not possible!”

“Maybe for you it isn’t, but Daddy has a few tricks up his sleeves.” His smile is wide. “But let’s worry about that later. We have a party to get back to!”

And, well, there is nothing to it. If the Grandmaster is telling the truth (and he cannot be, it is impossible, Loki knows all the theories, it _cannot be done!_) then the matter is settled. If he cannot, well… Loki is no worse off than where he started. And his host is obviously in no mood to discuss the matter further.

Might as well play along, then.

“It would be my pleasure,” Loki smiles back

The Grandmaster places a guiding hand on the small of his back; Loki instinctively leans into the touch.

(Not all of his instincts are bad; some of them are positively dreadful.)

**~*~**

It has been, to be fair, an excellent party.

The music was dissonant, but well muffled by the hum of conversation, and with a deep enough beat to never truly leave one alone with their thoughts.

The drinks were abundant, but Loki has managed to nurse his for many hours. It was incredibly sweet, bright red, exactly as he liked it. His glass was deeper than it appeared, and incredibly expensive looking.

When he discarded it, he did as he had seen the Grandmaster do: he stretched his arm out, and let the thin stem slip from his fingers. A servant swooped in and caught it before it hit the ground.

That had delighted him.

The Grandmaster had taken him around the room, introducing him to a variety of people, all of whom were apparently “very close friends, just, uh the best!”. And they all looked at the Grandmaster’s hand on his side with barely concealed jealousy, but then quickly moved to compliment him in a bid to earn the Grandmaster’s approval.

That had thrilled him.

And the Grandmaster himself is a most attentive host. His manner is odd, his intensity slightly off-putting at first, but Loki had quickly grown accustomed to both these things and had found himself responding to them well.

Besides, once Loki has moved past his initial weariness, he quickly concluded that the Grandmaster was an easy man to understand – one who concerns himself with entertainment and indulgence. Someone so simple is easy to navigate, perhaps even manipulate if Loki put his mind to it.

Moreover, the Grandmaster is royalty of some sort, which is familiar terrain for Loki, but he wears his status with an irreverence and arrogant casualness that differs so greatly from the solemn, heavy pride that so defines Asgard.

Seeing him so comfortable and free in displaying his power had made Loki envious, but the Grandmaster had been determined to use such displays for Loki’s benefit, and that had been more than enough to placate him. It had allowed him to enjoy the show, to watch as the Grandmaster danced through the crowd, authority melding well with a unique sort of charisma that felt both snake-like and decadent.

It had been aspirational, in a way, this obvious power devoted to self-indulgence and nothing of consequence.

So yes, Loki finds that there is much to like in Sakaar after all.

But now the sky is dark (and Loki would say the sun has set, but he hasn’t actually _seen _a sun around the planet), so it must be late. Assuming hours and daylight functioned in a similar manner here as they did in Asgard.

The point is, Loki has no idea how long he’s been here. That means it is time to leave, because if his absence hasn’t been noted yet then it will be noted soon, and that is a concern because Loki refuses to even _contemplate_ the prospect that he might be stuck here.

His brother would ask after him (he is sure), and father would go look for him (perhaps not in person), and someone would come and rescue him from this place (they would have to; he is a Prince. They cannot just leave him.) He would be rescued, and absolutely humiliated.

He stands up. “Grandmaster… I -” he starts. Stops when the world spins.

_Oh, _he thinks. _It must have been a stronger drink than I thought…._

But before he can lose his balance, the Grandmaster is right there beside him, a steadying hand on his shoulder. The contact is enough the ground Loki, the world immediately rushing into just enough clarity that he can meet the Grandmaster’s gaze without squinting.

“What is it, Lolo?” the Grandmaster asks, letting his hand trail down Loki’s arm as he lets it fall.

“I really must go,” Loki says, making sure to appear regretful.

He _is _regretful, really. This was a strange place, but an exciting one, and had the circumstances been more controlled Loki could easily imagine himself lingering here at least a couple days.

The Grandmaster stares at him for a moment, before sighing with an exaggerated sag of his shoulders. “Aw, I suppose you do, huh? Gee, that’s, that’s just disappointing. Time sure flies in such good company. Where did you say you were going? Asburg?”

Loki cannot help but giggle at that; the name seems far funnier than it truly out to be. He remembers a second later that he should probably be offended, or at least correct it.

Before he can formulate a reply, the Grandmaster waves a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

And then he is standing in front of Loki, far closer than he was moments before.

Loki blinks, and suddenly the Grandmaster fingertip is trailing over his chest, tracing a pattern Loki doesn’t recognize despite his extensive knowledge in runes. A faint warmth follows wherever the Grandmaster traces. It might have just been body heat.

Loki is not so drunk as to _actually_ believe that.

“There you go! All set!” The Grandmaster claps his hands together and steps back.

Loki’s fingers rise to his chest immediately, feeling nothing but the cloth of his clothes. “What was that?”

“Oh, uh, just…. Just a little thing to make sure travel safely. Go where you want to go, avoid all the unpleasantness you found on the way here. No need to thank me.” The Grandmaster winks. “Just take a step and think of home, you’ll be right there. Works both ways, too!”

It takes Loki a moment to formulate his response, because the Grandmaster has obviously done _something_, and Loki just let him somehow. And now he is looking down at his chest, and he sees nothing, feels nothing, and all he wants to do is paw at it, rip open his tunic, inspect his skin, three times over if necessary, and that is when the last of what the Grandmaster says truly registers.

“Pardon?”

“I mean…” the Grandmaster starts, batting his eyes as he lets his voice trail off suggestively. “You’ll come back, won’t you?”

He shouldn’t answer this. He should deflect and take his leave.

But the Grandmaster is still staring at him expectantly, is still standing so very close to him. The dizziness from the drink and the entire evening hasn’t left him completely, the warm trail of the Grandmaster’s fingers is still present and _pleasant_ on Loki’s chest, and Loki’s mind cannot quite put together a suitably evasive response.

“I… I will do my best.” Foolish. Such a foolish thing to say. At least he has had the good sense not to make a promise of it. “Though it may be a while yet My arrival here was quite accidental, and the time it would take to find a safer route-”

“Of course, of course! Silly me, I just… I just get so excited to find someone so new and fresh, I don’t even stop to explain! Well, don’t you worry kitten, Daddy has a solution for everything.”

He glances down at Loki’s chest, and taps it with the tip of his fingers.

“This little puppy is here to help”. He winked. “Now you know how to join me at any time. Anywhere.”

“Grandmaster, I…”

“No need to say thank you.” The back of his hand strokes Loki’s cheek. “Just say you’ll come back.”

Loki forces a chuckle. “Perhaps in a more dignified way, next time?”

“Don’t worry about it, darling. That’s the good thing about falling,” the Grandmaster purrs. “I’m right there to catch you.” He winks. “Now think of home, sweetheart.”

Then he pushes Loki lightly on the chest, and Loki takes a step back.

**~*~**

The transition is smooth, so smooth as to be disorienting. It takes Loki a moment to fin his bearings, and when he does, he looks around.

His own chambers almost seem strange to his eyes. Everything is exactly as he left it, and yet. His eyes had gotten accustomed so quickly to the bright, garish colors of Sakaar, the strange not-quite-sunlight that permeated the room. Comparatively, the muted golds and dark greens of his room are a harsh contrast. They are familiar, comforting even, but so at odds with his still beating heart, the high alert he has been in since the Grandmaster placed a hand on his chest.

With a sigh, Loki closes his eyes, and pinches at his brow.

He is back. That is good news, and all that he needs.

He also feels markedly lees drunk than he did seconds ago. That is even better news.

Though admittedly, the daylight does not help with his budding migraine, though. Hels, that drink must have been strong.

…Daylight…?

Loki startles. It had been nighttime when he had left Sakaar. It had taken him barely a second to make his journey back. Where both planets to vastly out of sync that it would be dawn in one and dusk in the other?

Has he been gone a _full day_?

Blanching, Loki looks around wildly, his mind racing. There is no chance that his absence has not been noticed. His mother would have required his presence at dinner, if nothing else. Thor might even have knocked on his door a couple times during the day. It wouldn’t be the first time neither would find him, and they had long ago accepted his bouts of reclusiveness as part of his nature. But goodwill would not extend to a full day’s worth of disappearance. His mother would worry, his father would have angered, and damnit all, Loki was _not _looking forward to the oncoming lecture -

His thoughts stutter when his eyes find what they were looking for: the clock on his wall, which has shifted barely thirty minutes since the moment he left.

The date is the same.

How…?

He rushes towards the balcony, leans over the side only to find the streets of Asgard as indolent as they have ever been. Men and women make their way to and fro, the guards are at their post as they always are, as they most certainly would not be if the second prince had been reported missing.

The sun is still high in the sky. It is barely midday.

Almost in a daze, Loki walks back into his room.

Not thirty minutes have passed since he stepped onto the hidden paths. He has spent hours on Sakaar, and it all amounted to but minutes here. With an hour’s worth of rest, no one would be able to tell he had lived through a full afternoon of drinking and world walking.

No one will ever know he has left at all.

With that last moment of relief, the strange few hours he has just experienced come rushing back to him. They hit him with full force, so much so that he has to sit down on the nearest available chair as his mind struggles to process the entire evening.

In a span of seconds, it all comes back to him: the initial confusion, the confidence, the flattery of being so openly favored; the admittedly great fun he had had during those couple of hours where he had decided to not push the Grandmaster any further.

Once again, his fingers come to brush against his chest; once again, he feels nothing amiss.

Coming home, so easily. The Grandmaster’s power, so casually flaunted.

(So easily admired.)

It had been a concern, when the Grandmaster had so openly marked him with an unknown rune. It still is, but there is not much to be done about it now. He cannot interrogate the Grandmaster. He certainly cannot ask his parents for their insight.

It doesn’t matter. He will figure it out. He has time.

(Would understanding it allow him to do the same? Would it allow him to flaunt rules he had never questioned before, destroy the conventions of seidr and the barriers they represent?)

Sakaar had been… confusing. And now that he is back, he feels….

Well, bereft, somehow; like an opportunity missed.

Norns, he needs water. His mouth is parched.

He glances towards the door, debating on whether he should summon a servant. Then he groans, lets his head fall back, and casts a summoning spell onto the jug of water he usually reserves for spells.

Never mind getting a glass. He’ll drink straight from pitcher.

His own magic flares up. It bursts, like a light going from a dim glow to a bright flame, surges through him like wildfire, igniting every cell in his body until the most basic summoning spell feels like the greatest high he has ever experienced.

Loki gasps, and pulls his fingers away. The pitcher collapses halfway through its course, falling onto the rug in a dull thug.

The sensation doesn’t fade, not entirely, but it dims considerably. Still, Loki can feel his magic pulsing in a way it never has before, his entire being humming with it. He feels… bigger. _More powerful._

Experimentally, he stretches out his hand, and twists it once to conjure the image of a snake. It was an old trick, one he has mastered many years prior.

He has never summoned an illusion quite so quickly before.

The snake appears in his hand in a fraction of a second, long and writhing and _heavy. _Loki can feel it in his hand with such stark clarity, feels its scale and its weight, so much so that he would have thought he had summoned an actual snake had he not known otherwise.

With another flicker of thought, the snake dissolves into green light, leaving nothing but the ghost impressions of its form still lingering in Loki’s palm.

His illusions have never been so lifelike before.

What else could he do now…?

Loki stares at his hands, and feels his lips slowly pull into a grin.

(Within his chest, magic beats like a second heart.)

**~*~**

After days of experiments, here is what Loki finds:

His magic is the same, its essence unmarred and uncorrupted. The spells are the same. The results, largely the same.

But it all comes so _easily_ now. What once required focus now only needs half a thought, and the power he knows ought to be demanded for each working feels negligible. Loki had always been a creature of magic, has always felt an affinity for the energies coursing through the universe. He is a talented made, and he has known this for a long time.

Now, he feels like he is _made _of magic itself. Like the universe is knitted into his bones and blood, and it is not him casting a spell so much as the world shifting to accommodate him.

And all he had done so far is _what he has always done in the past._

(And the Grandmaster did this to him. The Grandmaster must feel this way _all the time_.)

And from there on, worlds of possibilities open themselves to him, and Loki explores them greedily.

Right now, his focus is on his throwing daggers. Summoning them from negative space is a skill he has long since mastered, and he had taken great pride in always having a blade in hand, even in the most frenetic of battles.

Now, he laughs in exhilaration as four of them materialize out of thin air and plant themselves into their target in a matter of second.

He continues his experimentation for some time. Several days, in fact, leaving his room only for meals. He considers those days extremely well spent.

Not everybody agrees

“Brother!” Thor’s voice booms through his bedroom door. Much like its owner, it has the annoying talent of demanding attention even when Loki would like nothing more that to ignore it. “Come and join us!”

“No, Thor,” Loki responds, not even bothering opening the door.

“You have not left your rooms in days!”

“That is patently false, as I have seen you at breakfast this morning.”

“Our friends have inquired after you.”

“I doubt that.”

A pause, then Thor’s voice comes though the voice again. “There has been talk of a pack of trolls wreaking havoc in Alfheim,” Thor says, doing his level best to sound cajoling. “We were planning on seeking them out. Your presence is necessary!”

“I thought as much. Someone needs to guard the tent,” Loki says flippantly. “The answer is no.”

The sound of a fist thumping against the door. “Loki! Stop being unreasonable!”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Loki says curtly. He smirks. “And don’t you dare come into my room, or you’ll regret it!”

Thor, predictably, does just that. Loki doesn’t even have to _try_ anymore.

In the time it takes Thor to open the door, Loki has already rendered himself invisible, and stepped away to leave an illusion of himself behind. Thor has never been skilled at distinguishing the real from the facsimile, and that was before Loki’s increase in skill.

Thor steps into the room, finds an image of his brother obviously ignoring him, and barges forward. Loki leaves him to it.

He walks away, drunk on the knowledge that he might have made it corporal, had he wanted to, but simply chose not to as the sound of Thor crashing against his heavy desk chair is too satisfying to pass up.

_It never gets old, _he thinks fondly as he hears Thor’s outraged shout, which turns into loud clucking and chirping. He looks at his palms, where his magic still hums in time with his chest. _This will never get old. _

In the end, it takes Thor two days to stop squawking whenever he opens his mouth, and then only because their mother intervened and broke Loki’s working herself.

The scolding he receives is unpleasant, but barely permeates through the self-satisfaction that coats Loki’s entire being.

**~*~**

It lasts for a little over a week.

In retrospect, he should have expected it, but he has been so caught up in discovery that he hadn’t even considered the end of it. But now it came, far too soon, and it feels like missing a step when walking down stairs – disorienting, embarrassing.

It is a good thing he has resisted the urge to show off his newfound skills so far – that way lays questions he has no desire to answer at the moment. Had he given in to the urge to show off his new rise in power, he would have gathered an audience just in time to witness his rather dramatic fall.

And he knows he is merely at the level he had been at a week ago, but in his guts it feels impossible. How could he possibly have been so limited, and not realized it?

He tries again, and again, but his illusions are less corporeal, less convincing. He tries, and tries, and grows more frustrated by the minutes and the magic within his chest feels dimmer somehow.

After one last failure, he turns away, growling in frustration as he pinches his brow.

He had been making such progress. He doesn’t want to regress like this!

This was obviously a side effect of his trip to Sakaar. Or, more likely, of his contact with the Grandmaster somehow. It was obvious in the way his chest hummed whenever he cast a working, in the low hum of good mood and power that had coated him ever since he had stepped foot on that planet and had only truly noticed now that it was gone.

But now, the effect seems to have faded, most likely from prolonged distance. And that is a problem.

Alone in his room, Loki taps his lips, hesitates.

Well, he had said he would do his best to visit, hadn’t he?

The thought comes easily.

The thought, it turns out, is all he needs.

His room begins to shift around him.

**~*~**

The journey back to Sakaar is so smooth it takes a second for Loki to realize he has even done so. The sudden assault on his senses – bright green and white walls, head-pounding music – is enough to disorient him upon his arrival. The dull rumble of many conversations surrounds him, and as he stands taking it all in he is pushed to the side by a Kree who eagerly makes he way to the dancefloor.

And then a voice somehow cuts through all the noise, and Loki turns to find the Grandmaster sitting on a ridiculously long couch, waving wildly at him.

“Loki! There you are!” he beams, his gaze darting back and forth between his entourage and an approaching Loki. “Look everyone, our very own Lolo is back!”

“Grandmaster,” Loki replies gracefully. Years of diplomacy allow him to not even wince at the nickname. “I do hope you did not miss me too much.”

“I mean, I could say that… but, uh, I could never lie to you Lolo.” The Grandmaster rises to his feet, and immediately his arm snakes around Loki’s own, forcing Loki to lean ever so slightly against him. “But, you did _promise_ to come back, so I wasn’t worried. I knew you wouldn’t lie to me either. And I was right! Look at you, back already!”

“Yes,” Loki answers politely. “In better time than I expected.”

The Grandmaster oozes self-satisfaction. “I know, right? Anywhere else, sneaking out to a party would be a whole, uh, _thing,_ but here on Sakaar…Time works differently around these parts. Lucky you.” He winks. “So, I guess there isn’t any reason for you to rush home anymore.”

“I suppose not,” Loki says with a matching grin. The Grandmaster is not a particularly subtle individual, if this is the best manipulation he is capable of. “It is indeed fortunate for me. I didn’t not stay here nearly long enough to sample all the delights this planet can offer.”

“Honey, you could stay an eternity and not get to the bottom of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Though, I have a few ideas of where to start already.”

“Oh? And where would that be, sugarplum?”

Loki’s smile takes on a much more genuine shade. This conversation is going as smoothly as he hoped. “Several places,” he answers coyly.

“Oh, Lolo, don’t make me work for it,” the Grandmaster tuts. “I’m, uh, I’m trying to be a good host here.”

With his most charming grin, Loki obliges. “Well, I have never met a sorcerer of your caliber before. That alone would be more than enough to lure me back. Beyond the pleasantness of your company, of course.”

The Grandmaster raises an eyebrow. “Laying it on a bit thick there, aren’t you?” At Loki’s stricken look, he laughs. “Ha, I love it. You’re just… Just great. Go ahead, sweetheart. Tell Daddy what you want.”

“Ah,” Loki says, letting his embarrassment at being called out shine through; with luck, the Grandmaster will find it endearing. “I don’t suppose you might show me some more of your skills?”

“You mean, a party trick or two? Or is it a, uh, student/teacher thing you want going on...?”

The second option is said with a leer; Loki pointedly ignores it. “The later.”

“Wow, honey,” the Grandmaster whistles. “Second time here, already making requests…You… You aren’t the shy type, are you?”

“Did I strike you as shy?”

“I, uh, I don’t know, are you?” His features morph in a dramatic pout. “We _barely _got the chance to know each other before you left.”

Loki smiles brightly. “Well, I suppose I am here to remedy that,” he says, and knows he just sealed the deal.

“Now, that is what I like to hear.” With that, the Grandmaster takes Loki by the arm and escorts him out the door, barely bothering to turn his head towards his guest as he says: “You guys just carry on without me! Lolo and I have business to do!”

**~*~**

As Loki had hoped, the Grandmaster is more than amenable to demonstrate his power.

“Of course, I can show you a few tricks! I’m not… Not stingy with them. Not like my brother.”

“You have sibling?

“A few, here and there. Throughout the Universe. They, they’re just… _ugh_, you know what I mean?”

“All too well.”

“You too, huh? Well, we’re just… just two peas in a pod, aren’t we? So glad I got the _good_ brother.”

As Loki had expected, said demonstrations invokes a lot more physical contact than is strictly necessary.

“Stop frowning, sweetheart,” and a finger comes to brush at his brow, smoothing the wrinkles. “It’s cute, but you don’t need to focus _that_ much for this.”

“Shoulders back, there’s a good boy,” and the Grandmaster is behind him as he pulls his back even straighter than it already was.

What Loki hadn’t expected is what happens next:

“Yeah, uh, no, this isn’t working, honey,” the Grandmaster murmurs, lip still so very close to his ear. “Why don’t you just, uh, just let me show you.”

And the Grandmaster places both palms over the back of his hands, his skin surprisingly soft and warm against Loki’s own.

Loki can feel the Grandmaster’s magic hovering upon them, sliding over his skin, gently yet insistently pressing into his skin.

It takes him a moment to fully understand the request, to deliberate his answer.

And then he takes a deep breath and lowers his defenses.

The Grandmaster’s spell seeps into him instantly, coiling around his own and lifting it up. Loki can feel it within him, surrounding him, gently ushering his magic like a river being diverted.

And throughout it all, Loki forces himself to stand still.

He has done this with Frigga many times before, during their private sessions. When he found himself unable to grasp the subtleties of what she wished to teach him, his mother’s magic would gently nudge his own until he could get a better sense of how it needed to flow.

He has done it with his mother; this is no different.

“Just, uh, just let me know if this becomes to much for you to handle.”

And then the magic surrounding his own suddenly soars, dragging Loki’s into heights unimagined.

Loki gasps, feels his knees buckle, his eyes bulging as colors suddenly become ten times more intense and the light ten times brighter. There is a roar in his ear -the song of the universe he is so familiar with, but distorted and deepened as he hears it from a vantage point he has never experience before.

And still, Loki is pulled up, up, up, the magic surrounding him never faltering. There is nothing to do but hold on for dear life – and even that is inaccurate, because Loki has lost his grip long ago. He is just being carried now, dragged along and too disoriented to do anything about it.

His mother is a formidable witch; the Grandmaster is leagues beyond.

When he finds his bearings, the world is still to bright, yet not enough. Everything is sharp, his heartbeat is so fast it feels like it might stop any second. The Grandmaster’s arms support his entire weight, but Loki can only spare a distant thought to once again marvel just how strong he is.

He is _everywhere_. He inhabits every millimeter of this room, his awareness stretched down to the atom. It breathes in time with him, pulses in time with his thoughts. Loki feels like the sun around which planets revolve.

No, no he is more than that. He is the gravity itself, holding it all together.

Ready to rearrange it at the slightest thought.

“See, Lolo,” the Grandmaster whispers in his ear. “_That _is what Daddy can do.”

And Loki wants more.

**~*~**

They had to stop shortly afterwards. It is dark, and more importantly, Loki has collapsed on the floor.

“Oh sweetheart,” the Grandmaster coos as he ushers a glass of water in Loki’s hands. “So sorry about that. I didn’t mean to push you like that.”

“No, no,” Loki protests feebly. The impact is even more lessened by the sips of water he takes in between words, the Grandmaster all but forcing the glass to his lips. “That was… I can handle it. I can do it again.”

“I’m sure you will,” the Grandmaster replies. His hand strokes Loki’s head once in a placating gesture. “But uh, maybe we’ll take things slower next time? Build up to it?”

“If you’d like,” Loki agrees, rising to his feet as he does so. It is a point of pride to both be off the ground and not allow himself to be pet more than necessary. “but I won’t… I won’t break from this.”

The Grandmaster lets him rise without protest, eyes half-lidded and a fond smile on his lips. “I know you won’t,” he purrs. “Such a good sport you are.”

**~*~**

He claims exhaustion when he returns to Asgard. Explains being too carried away by his studies and needing nothing more than a quick meal in his own room and lots of rest.

It’s not even that much of a lie, all things considered.

Thor grumbles well-meaningly, then announces his intention to leave on another quest – one which Loki will not join him on. His mother gently chides him to get more sleep and remember to eat. His father says something about the virtue in restraint, and thus implies Loki’s lack thereof.

Loki answers everything dutifully but perfunctorily. His mind is still full of the sights he has witnessed, and what might await him next.

He returns three days later, having slept through the first two and coming up with convincing explanation for a prolonged disappearance during the third.

The Grandmaster welcomes him with wide arms and even wider smile.

~*~

Now that he has already once let the Grandmaster’s magic carry his own, it is easier to agree to it again. Then once more.

Unlike when he does it with his mother, the sensation never becomes familiar. The Grandmaster’s power is dizzying, far more than Loki could have ever suspected when first meeting him. And the more Loki takes in the scope of such power, the more clearly he takes stock of his own. How paltry in comparison, how limited…

But it need not remain that way. He has learned much already, has felt his own potential increase by the mere proximity with this man. And the Grandmaster has not tired of assisting him, has even admitted to looking forward to the experience.

And so, Loki lets himself soar on borrowed wings, lets himself reach new heights on a platform built by the Grandmaster’s hands.

It is still an overwhelming experience, but no longer frightening.

(Loki has forgotten he ever had cause the latter. He is very skilled at avoiding inconvenient things. For a time, anyway.)

He soars, and marvels, and feels his magic beat in time with every atom in the room. And he can do more now, can make greater illusions at a greater distance. Can look through the eyes of a copy of himself without only a fraction of focus.

So thoughtlessly easy. What else might he do?

Under the Grandmaster’s indulgent gaze, Loki conjures an army of doubles, all of them as defined and corporal as himself.

“Ooooh, now that is an interesting trick, Lolo,” his host says appreciatively. “Lots of, uh, _practical_ applications.”

Loki hears the appreciation, ignores the innuendo, and grins wider. He stretches his magic further, and peeks through the eyes of all he has summoned.

Twenty different perspectives of the same room hit him at once, overlaying on top of each other, similar but never blending. It is a cacophony of sights, a surge of dizziness so intense the ground beneath his feet seems to upturn entirely.

_It is a complete failure, _Loki thinks through a muddled mind as he releases the spell. The clones vanish entirely. His knees buckle.

“Easy there!” the Grandmaster chides as he catches him before he falls completely. “Gee, Lolo, you’re making a habit out of this,”

“Apologies,” Loki pants, not making a moving to rise. The dizziness still hasn’t left him, and the Grandmaster’s arms feels much more secure than his own legs at the moment. “Tough in my defense, you did say you would catch me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” the Grandmaster replies with a wink. “Well, you can keep falling into my arms as much as you’d like. Can’t say I mind.”

Loki lets out a breathless laugh. “Ah, perhaps that was enough for one day?”

“Ah, Lolo,” the Grandmaster sighs in contentment. His fingers come up to combs through Loki’s head. They are grounding. “You’re just… just great.”

Loki smiles. The Grandmaster’s compliments are not particularly eloquent, but they are sincere.

It is rare for Loki to be so enjoyed.

With one last tap on Loki’s head, the Grandmaster gently pushes him back to a standing position. “Alright, alright, enough experimenting for the day. How about we join the others and just show you off for a bit? That trick with the snake will be a hit, let me tell you!”

There is little Loki enjoys more than being shown off. “By all means,” he says, feeling as light as ever when the Grandmaster takes him by the hand and guides him towards the party of few floors below.

**~*~**

The snake trick is, indeed, a hit.

All throughout the night, people come up to Loki and ask him to _please_ make a snake appear in this person’s glass, and then promptly giggle in delight when the victim shireks and drops their cup. They ask for encores; Loki gladly provides, with a twirl of his hand and a short bow at the end.

Sakaar proves to be a much better audience

(Later, Loki would wonder what he had ever been to them, the performer or the spectacle. But again, that would be much later.)

~*~

When Loki readies himself to leave, five days later, there is something different about the process. He cannot put his finger on it at first, but it is there nonetheless. It bothers him, this strange sensation –

Ah, that’s it. Sensation.

He hasn’t felt anything when making the journey before.

Of course. With so much time spent communing with the Grandmaster’s magic, he must have become much better at detecting its presence.

That is what he feels now, within his chest. A dim glow, like a very distant star; one that Loki now knows would be a supernova if he were to approach it too closely.

Foreign magic placed upon him; untouched and unchallenged for quite some time now.

Loki hesitates. He had never quite forgotten about it, but after so many weeks of it going unnoticed it seemed like a lesser concern. The Grandmaster had certainly never brought it up again; he had barely seemed to consider it worth noting even as he first placed the mark on Loki’s chest. To bring the subject up again seems like an unnecessary risk, might sour his relationship with the Grandmaster. And that is the last thing Loki wants. There is still so much to learn…

But he really oughtn’t allow it to remain, should he?

“Grandmaster?”

“Hmm, yes Lolo?” his host replies distractedly. He is lounging on one of those absurdly long sofas he is so fond of, toying with a small device in his hand that periodically beeps and whistles. Some sort of game, judging by the pleased smile the Grandmaster bears whenever such occurrence happens.

“I was wondering, about the mark on my chest…” Norns, it has been ages since he has sounded so hesitant when making a request. Certainly not since he was still a boy.

“What about it?”

Loki steels himself. No need to tiptoe around the issue. “Might we remove it?”

Whatever vehement reaction Loki feared, he does not get. Instead, the Grandmaster blinks, as if genuinely confused. “I _could_, I guess, but… why? It’s for your benefit.” He scrunches his nose. “I mean, no offence, Lolo, but you’re not quite good enough to keep up all _that_” he vaguely waves his hand towards Loki in the air, a meaningless gesture than nonetheless speaks volumes, “on your own yet. How will you manage if I remove it?”

“I…suppose I wouldn’t,” Loki admits through pursed lips. The Grandmaster has made his point, and it is an irrefutable one.

Well then, Loki will just have to keep coming until he can do so on his own.

“See?” The Grandmaster taps the back of his hand in a placating gesture. “You just…enjoy the gift, Lolo. No need to feel self-conscious.”

**~*~**

It would have been foolish of Loki to expect that his parents would notice _nothing._ Even more foolish to believe that there would be no recrimination coming his way, once they did.

(Loki is indeed a fool, but that isn’t quite the point in this particular case.)

However, Loki has been careful. His absences are timed. He toes the line as much as is believable for someone of his reputation, and thus attracts little attention. When his parents come to question, it is with no true accusation in mind.

Loki is rather proud. And bitter. It is a reminder that negative attention is the sole kind that will be easily granted to him; it has always been as such.

So, there is a conversation with Odin, eventually. It might have been in a private setting, it might have been in passing. Perhaps even it is a mostly pleasant one.

None of that matters, in the end. Here is all Loki will remember of it:

“Your brother tells me you have been distant as of late.”

“Has he?” Loki replies. He puts on the same innocent, mildly disinterested tone he knows sets his father on edge. He barely even realizes he does it at this point. “Then perhaps Thor needs to accustom himself to others not being at his disposal. And not bother the All-Father with his own petty problems.”

Odin frowns at that, his lips purse in impatient displeasure. “Do not make this conversation belligerent, Loki. I am merely heeding my son’s concerns.”

“Of course.”

Loki adds nothing more, and lets his father scrutinize further. He has long given up on guessing what the All-Father is thinking; he is reasonably assured it is nothing too positive.

Finally, Odin lets out a breath that would have been a heavy sigh on a less restrained man. “If that is your response, then I have nothing more to say on the matter. I trust you to make sound choices in your wanderings,”

“Of course,” Loki says, with a mild voice and clenched fists.

He can pick out a thousand criticism and warnings in his father’s words. They do not have to be said out loud for him to recognize them.

“And keep your squabbles more discreet in the future. There can only be so many times the crown prince can walk around screeching like a bird before it gets commented upon,” the All-Father adds wrily. “I expect both my sons to behave with the dignity of two Princes of Asgard.”

Loki bows once. “Yes, All-Father.”

~*~

“Back so soon?”

“Grandmaster,” Loki greets with a teasing smile. “You almost sound as if you are not pleased to see me.”

The Grandmaster laughs as he takes Loki by the arm. “Oh, don’t worry about _that,_ Lo,” he winks. “I mean, you’ve been here for the better part of a month now. Don’t they ever miss you?”

“No,” Loki says, with great effort to keep his tone light. He lets himself be escorted away, eager for the distraction. “I can’t say that they do.”

**~*~**

When Loki had been a boy, his mother had been his sole tutor when it came to spellcraft. The Queen was a witch of unparalleled ability, and more importantly the only person in the world capable of having him willingly remain in one place for any length of time.

Now, centuries later, their time together is not so frequent. He is too old to justify her constant presence and has branched out into field of studies she was not equipped to teach. Still, his mother has always taken care to arrange some time for the both of them, for spells and conversation.

Loki treasures such moments. And he particularly proud to show her his newfound skills. Tending to plants has never been his strong suit, but now he can make up for his lack of affinity for the art with sheer power.

His spell is nothing like the gently coaxing his mother does – his is more of a demand and an insistent tug – but the end result is the same.

“You’ve improved,” she says with a smile that is only mildly teasing. “Though I still recognize the boy who yelled in frustration at the flower when it did not do as he wished.”

“Ah, but the tables have turned, and I relish my victory.” Loki is rewarded with his mother’s chuckle. “Practice, I suppose,” he adds with the modesty he has been taught to display; his mother knows it to be utterly false, and her smiles turns all the more mischievous for it. “And an excellent teacher.”

“Hmm, well, there are some tricks I know I did not teach you,” she says, making room for him as he comes to sit at her side. “Thor would have never forgiven me for it.”

“But you know how.”

“Of course.” She tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, then pats his cheek. “I hope my son does not see this as encouragement, but there is little he can do that I have not done first.”

Loki hums in acknowledgement, fondly squeezing his mother’s hand. He says nothing more, content to bask in the pleasure of her presence and the peacefulness of the garden. There had been a time when he thought it the most perfect place in the Universe, and though his tastes have varied somewhat since his youth, he still has found no place like it – a safe haven in the heart of the palace. When he pictures it in his mind’s eye, it always featured his mother and himself, alone and away from the rest of the realm.

The Queen is the one who ends the peaceful silence:

“Speaking of tricks played on your brother, have you resolved your fight with Thor yet?”

Loki resists the urge to sigh. It is in his mother’s nature to be the peacekeeper, and he does not want to fault her for it. “Hardly a fight,” he says somewhat sullenly. “Just a few boundaries being put in place.”

Frigga sighs. “Quite firmly, from what I see.” Before Loki can retort, she places a placating hand on his. As she speaks, her thumb gently strokes his skin. “I do not mean to dictate your actions, and I have seen my sons at odds often enough not to concern myself too much with such things. Yet, Thor has been quite put out as of late. He misses his brother.”

“I find my own entertainment, and it happens at present not to require my brother’s company,” Loki pulls his hand away, but softens the gesture with a small smile. He looks away from her then, contemplating the garden that had once been his sole refuge. “Thor will just have to deal with it. I do as I please.”

**~*~**

The next time he arrives on Sakaar, the Grandmaster immediately grabs him by the arm. When Loki makes a move towards their usual chambers, he finds himself pulled in another direction.

“No, no dabbling today,” the Grandmaster says. “We’re going on a cruise!”

“Ah,” Loki responds, looking back towards the hall where the Grandmaster usually spirits him away to. “I had rather hoped we would instead-”

The Grandmaster stops dead in his tracks.

Loki’s mouth snaps shut.

“Uh, Lolo…it wasn’t a _request_.”

White teeth gleam in a stiff smile. Honey colored eye stare unblinkingly.

Loki quickly reassesses his plans.

The Grandmaster has been more than generous with his time already. It would be silly for Loki to argue, especially against one of the Grandmaster’s admittedly stellar entertainment skills.

“A cruise, you say?”

“Yup!” The Grandmaster smiles brightly, animation suddenly returning to his features. “In my own private ship, no less! Trust me honey, you’ll love it. It’s like, uh, like what we do here, but _flying_.”

“I’m sure I will,” Loki answers mildly

“That’s the spirit,” the Grandmaster says as he leads him towards the ship hangar. A servant is waiting for them there, a cocktail glass on the tray. The Grandmaster picks it up. “Here, honey. Drink this. Consider it a “welcome aboard” gift.”

Loki takes the glass, politely thanking his host, and swallows it under the Grandmaster’s approving gaze. He steps onto the ship with his head held high, and the crowd cheers his arrival.

_Is this dignified enough for you, All-Father?_

**~*~**

The drink in his hand is far sweeter than anything that might be found on Asgard, the background is filled with the sound of chatter and the beat of a music Loki has never heard before, its pounding weight a strange counterpoint to the lightheadedness that has seized him over an hour ago.

Loki doesn’t remember drunkenness being quite so pleasant.

Back home, a night of drinking takes the form of loud cheering, mead splashing on the ground and on his shoes, him tiring early on yet remaining for the sake of looking after Thor and documenting whatever humiliation might befall on him.

Here, on Sakaar, all he need do is lounge back on this sofa, surrounded on all sides by avid listeners, and spin a tale of deeds he could never admit to in Asgard for the entire gathering to roar in laughter and approval. The men and women around him are from many different races, some even that Loki does not recognize, yet they are all gathered around him like he is the sole link bounding them all together.

Loki basks in the attention, tips his head back to finish the rest of his drink. Not two seconds afterwards, a full glass is pressed into his hands, curtesy of a Luphomoid who looks at him with hooded eyes and blush on its cheek that is only partially due to alcohol. Their shirt is unbuttoned just enough to reveal a lithe but sculpted body, tattooed in a Sakaarian pattern that goes all the way up to their bald head.

When Loki slowly lets his eyes trail all over the white markings, they smile lasciviously.

The attention is flattering, and not the only one of its kind. Loki drinks it up, allows himself a smirk and a wink in return, confident that such flirtation would never go beyond what he would allow.

They would never dare; he is a Prince.

He takes a long sip of his new drink, never breaking eye contact with the Luphamoid, who giggles before settling himself on the ground and resting his arms crossed on Loki’s knees and placing his head upon them. The casual contact is more than he is accustomed to, but Loki cannot bring himself to care.

Oh, but Loki _likes _this. Playing the decadent prince. Being the center of attention, exuding an air of casual, arrogant confidence, his mind soaring too high up on liquor for any sort of lingering anxiety or dark thought to reach him.

Loki is exactly as he always wanted to be.

Such a remarkable find this place was.

He feels a presence behind him, does not turn around when he feels the Grandmaster’s hands sliding over his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees the Grandmaster lean forward until his face is level with Loki’s ear.

“You having fun, kitten?” the Grandmaster asks, his breath warm against Loki’s cheek.

Loki briefly pounders objecting to the nickname, before deciding he is too blissful to care. He hums in response, arching his back slightly; it is the only movement he is capable of, he realizes distantly.

“Oh, goody,” the Grandmaster purrs. Loki cannot see his grin but hears it all the same. “Move over, why don’t you?” his host asks to the Skrull on Loki’s left, who does so without a token protest.

The Grandmaster sprawls himself on the couch, careless as he puts his feet upon the cushions and slides as close to Loki as possible, until his chest is against Loki’s arm and his hand is casually resting against Loki’s thigh.

Loki’s skin hums at the contact. His very core seems to heat up in the Grandmaster’s presence, like slipping into a warm bath laced with heavy perfume.

He lets out a small sigh in contentment, and feels his body sagging every so slightly into the Grandmaster’s arms.

“Comfortable, sweetheart?” the Grandmaster asks, his golden eyes sparkling and deep.

He doesn’t recall ever smiling this much.

The Grandmaster’s smile is a bright, hungry thing as he coaxes Loki to take another sip; Loki happily obliges.

**~*~**

“Easy there, honey,” the Grandmaster coos, his arm tightening around Loki’s waist. “One step at a time, there you go.”

The truth is, Loki is not nearly drunk enough to warrant this sort of escort. Certainly not enough for the Grandmaster to hold him flush against his side as he does, as if he were the only thing keeping Loki from toppling over.

Of course, Loki recognizes it for the flirtation that it is. Overt, obvious, very nearly excessive… but, well, not _unpleasant. _The Grandmaster is an alluring man, a powerful one. To be the focus of his attention is a heady thought.

And beneath his tunic, where the Grandmaster touches, Loki’s skin hums with life. The Grandmaster’s magic hangs around them in the air, sending small sparks over his arms and spine, sinking into his lungs with every breath. He can feel the invisible mark on his chest pulse this time, like a heartbeat, a steady warmth rippling from it in waves.

It is an exquisite feeling.

_An addiction, _a small part of his mind whispers. _As surely as any drink you might consume here._

He frowns at the thought, the hint of worry overshadowed by indignation. An addiction? Certainly not. He would _never_ allow himself such a loss of control; such things were for Thor and his boisterous, brainless cronies. He has never partaken like they had, has never indulged so much he lost control of his senses. He certainly would not start now!

_Besides, _he argues at himself, _I’ve walked away from here easily enough before. And will readily do so again._

Not this very moment, of course. Later.

Right now, he can accept the flattery, he decides. He is still sober enough to refuse any further advances. He can say no if he so wishes.

He just doesn’t want to.

“Now, uh, sweetness, where is your room again?”

Loki frowns, looks up and tries to find his bearings in a hall he doesn’t quite recognize. He opens his mouth to voice his confusion, only to be cut short by the Grandmaster’s dismissive hand.

“No, no, don’t bother trying to talk, I know how to get us there,”

Before Loki can respond, that same hand comes to press against his forehead, and –

And…

He is settling in his designated rooms, content that his most recent excuse has brought him at least two days in this place.

He is in his room, trying to wrap his mind around the time dispersion between Asgard and Sakaar. He fails.

The Grandmaster is ushering him through halls, his hand low on Loki’s back, a familiar touch in a now habitual place.

He is on the floor, the very first time he came to Sakaar, and the Grandmaster is looming over him, tall and imposing and awe inspiring…

The Grandmaster’s magic lifting his own, enveloping him fully, the sensation deep and intense and _delightful_, Loki’s eager excitement barely keeping him away from the temptation to merely _bask,_ and the storm in his mind lingers on that memory, those feelings, stretching them on and on until nothing had ever come before or after and on again…

And then he is back in the hallway, somehow. His knees are barely holding him up, having largely given away the task to the Grandmaster’s arms. He can hear himself gasping, the sound overlaid with the echoes of past conversations brought back to the forefront of his mind.

“Oh, there it is,” he hears the Grandmaster say. His eyes are blinking furiously, trying to bring into focus a world that insists on remaining blurry. “Silly me, we are in the wrong hallway!”

He feels himself being pulled in the other direction, a sharp angle that Loki struggles to follow. His feet seem to trip over themselves, his once steady legs suddenly struggling to support his weight. He stumbles forward, barely managing to catch himself on the collar of the Grandmaster’s robes. His knuckles turn almost white from the strength of his grip.

The world is still out of focus, save for the Grandmaster’s bright, ever cheerful grin.

“Grandmaster,” Loki gasps. “I… What have you…?”

A finger presses against his lips.

“Hush, now, darling. I told you not to bother talking.”

**~*~**

He wakes up in his bed the next morning. The electric red sheets hurt his eyes when he cracks them open.

Sluggishly, he turns over to settle back into what he knows will be an unrestful slumber. He feels alcohol and lack of sleep cake around his eyes, the phantom echoes of touch and breath clinging to his skin even as he tries to ignore them.

The sensation is as unwelcome as the fragments of last night slowly making their way back to his mind, an unorganized mess of colors and sounds, delight and dread in the pit of his stomach, slowly making their way up to lodge in his throat.

He doesn’t want to parse through them right now. He’ll deal with them later.

“Oh, look who finally woke up!”

Loki stifles a groan as he turns his head. Norns, he does not wish to be seen like this.

The Grandmaster smiles and struts across the room, a glass of clear liquid in his hand. “I was wondering when you’d emerge,” he teases, as he pressed the drink in Loki’s hand. “You’re a bit of a lightweight, aren’t you?”

Loki feels his cheeks redden at the comment, but the embarrassment he feels is dampened by the nausea that came with sitting himself up. “I thank you for your concern,” he says – slurs – as he takes the offered glass.

“Well, _of course _I’m concerned, darling!”

“It is much appreciated. However,” Loki continues, closing his eyes as he tries to gather his thoughts into something coherent. “I assure you, I will manage on my own.”

Even with eyes closed, Loki can see the Grandmaster’s smile stiffen ever so slightly, and his eyes narrow by a fraction. His host chuckles, though if it is fond or mocking is hard to tell.

Loki’s stomach drops; it must be the alcohol.

“Huh, Lolo. It, uh, it _almost _sounds like you want me to leave.”

“Ah,” Loki replies dumbly. He says nothing else; his mind is far too muddled to come up with a polite dismissal of his host.

If there is such of thing, of course.

The Grandmaster smiles indulgently. “Drink up, honey.”

Given recent experience, there is no telling what is in that glass, but Loki feels far too exhausted to ask any questions. He takes the offered drink and sips, figuring that more alcohol won’t make much of a difference anyway.

It’s just water. Ah, good.

The Grandmaster is still here.

Gingerly, Loki allows himself to lay back, until his back hits the numerous pillows behind him. The Grandmaster stays quiet, seemingly content to watch him sip on his water and mull over last night’s events.

The party, the laughter. Loki’s success and popularity still buzzes under his skin and his heart, along with the pleasant high the liquor had granted him. The Grandmaster’s hands upon his shoulder, his side; not unwelcome at the time, too complicated to dwell upon now.

Later, he will think about it later.

(He did in the end. He would almost wish he hadn’t.)

So he thinks on, to the end of the party, stumbling in the hallways, trying to find his room…

The Grandmaster’s palm upon his forehead. His mind peeled open as easily as a book and shut down just as quickly.

His thoughts stutter at that.

It hadn’t been painful, really. Surprising, dizzying, invasive, breathtaking. Not painful. Not long, either. Loki hadn’t been in any state to resist or fight against it, so the Grandmaster just took what he wanted.

And left just as quickly, not lingering anymore than he had to.

Two seconds amongst an entire eventful day. Two seconds that played on loop in Loki’s mind.

It hadn’t been painful. It had been too smooth, too easy, too natural for that.

He risks a glance towards the Grandmaster. “What you did last night…”

“Sweetheart, I did _a lot _of things last night –”

“With my memories…”

“Ah, that,” the Grandmaster interrupts, flicking his finger as he does as if to pinpoint the subject. “What about it?”

_I didn’t like it, _Loki thinks. _I wasn’t ready for it. _

And what about it?

Loki’s been here long enough to know that any objection will be dismissed with a laugh, consequences waved away in the name of utilitarianism and whim.

The Grandmaster does not care for anything else. It is so different from the manner in which his father wields his power, from the way his mother teaches her own. Any spell interfering with the mind would have been spoken about in oblique at best, any display would have been carefully guarded, and Loki would have been scolded for wishing to come anywhere near it.

Life is different in Sakaar. His father and mother would have shrouded such magic in enticing forbidding. The Grandmaster does not hide it from him and thinks nothing of it.

(That his father and mother would have never inflicted such a thing upon him in the first place doesn’t cross his mind. Life is different in Sakaar, yet it is sometimes difficult to remember it had been any other way.)

So, what about it?

Fingers trailing upon his chest, poking through his mind. Loki can still feel them at times, this power that is not his own yet is growing increasingly familiar.

What must it be like, to wield such spells and consider them inconsequential?

Loki is glad he was too drunk to properly remember the sensation of having memories ripped from him. All that is left is the notion that it is possible.

The Grandmaster sits before him, power incarnate and close enough to touch.

“Teach me?”

His voice is hoarse from alcohol and something else he will not name.

The Grandmaster smiles, as he has done hundreds of times before. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

**~*~**

Thor comes back to his door. He is quieter this time, knocking respectfully and waiting for Loki to allow him entry before stepping in his room.

It is appreciated.

It does not stop Loki from denying him when he requests that Loki accompany him off realm. He does so regretfully, as he has not spent any long period of time with Thor in a few months now. Alas, the Grandmaster has made it clear that he expected Loki to be present for his birthday which will be celebrated in two day.

Loki is positive that it is a date the Grandmaster has chosen at random, and probably a celebration that can be scheduled several times in one year if the Grandmaster so wishes. But, the Grandmaster had been insistent, and Loki knew better than to deny him on such things.

So, he makes his excuses, most gracefully if he may say so himself.

It does little to placate his brother.

“You cannot possibly be serious!” Thor exclaims, his previous polite demeanor giving way to frustration and a most petulant frown.

Loki bristles. It is not enough that Thor would react in such a childish manner, but the sheer disbelief in his voice, as if Loki could not possibly have anything better to do than follow him around….

“Why not?” he snaps back.

Thor bristles back, but visibly makes an effort to appear calm. “I do not mean to force you to come. I only wish you would want to.”

His brother speaks far more slowly and deliberately than usual. It is obvious his words have been carefully selected.

Perhaps their mother has given him a set of instructions before coming, Loki thinks snidely.

He crosses his arm and matches Thor’s frown with a glare. “No, you wish for me to come and pretend I want nothing more than trail along behind you like a hapless pup.”

Thor grits his teeth. “You’re being unfair,”

“And you’re being a nuisance,” Loki snaps, before pointedly turning away and walking towards his bookshelf. “I am busy, Thor. Go away.”

“You have been busy a lot,” Thor pushes. “What are you doing?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Loki,” he growls, before sighing the same long-suffering sigh that never fails to make Loki’s hackles rise. “Don’t be difficult!”

Loki turns around sharply. “I am not being difficult, I am just being myself, which I understand are the same thing for you but-”

“But you are not!” Thor bellows. “You’ve have been distant, as of late Secretive, snappish, for no reason. I must have seen you all of five times this past month, and even then, you are hardly present!” He speaks more quietly then, though with no less heat. “You barely speak, you are always pale. Even your barbs are duller.”

Loki purses his lips. His first instinct is to deny Thor’s claims, or find a proper rebuttal. He hates that he can do neither.

Instead, he settles on a scoff and a sneer. “Well, after such glorious praise, it really is a wonder that I do not spend my every waking moment in your company.”

Thor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Just tell me what is going on,” he pleads. “I find it harder and harder to recognize you!”

Loki can see the last of his brother’s patience fraying. So of course, he pushes. “That must be so hard for you,” he mocks.

Thor stares at him for a beat longer, before letting him go abruptly.

“Fine. Be alone,” he growls. He turns on his feet before Loki can stop him. “It makes no difference to me what you do!”

Loki watches him go, paralyzed by embarrassed rage despite the urge to run after him.

Instead, he gives into a different urge, and runs back to his room, back onto the shadow paths.

**~*~**

It’s not as if his absence will be noticed anyway, Loki thinks bitterly. Father and mother have both left for some official function in Vanaheim – Loki hasn’t been keeping track of what it is precisely.

Thor doesn’t care what Loki does.

“Oh, Lolo,” the Grandmaster coos as Loki makes his entrance. “You, uh, you just brighten the room.”

There is another drink pressed in his hands. Loki doesn’t even look as he swallows it down.

~*~

Loki’s conversation partner is delightful. Because he is charming, or because Loki has drunk enough to find the entire world delightful, it is hard to tell.

(Later, Loki won’t remember much of his conversation partner. He won’t even remember what species they were from.)

Loki’s conversation partner is delightful, this party is delightful, even the music is appealing right now

“Alright, stud, move over, you’re in my seat,” comes a familiar voice. Loki manages to pull himself up to smile at the newcomer.

His sad-fated conversation partner does no such thing.

“Get lost,” they slur, the alcohol making both their tongue and brain tragically, fatally sluggish. 

(Loki’s conversationalist doesn’t turn around. They don’t recognize the voice. They are _that _drunk.)

“Uh oh, I think… Uh, that is rude, disrespectful, almost _lèse-majesté_.”

The reality of their situation finally sets into that poor soul, but to late. The Grandmaster has snapped his fingers, and his ever-present shadow grabs the offender by the arm and pulls him away from the couch. Loki turns his head to watch them be dragged away to a side room, but his attention is quickly diverted when the Grandmaster slides against him and purrs: “Hey Lolo.”

“Grandmaster,” Loki says teasingly. “You’ve just interrupted a promising friendship.”

His demeanor has never been so openly flirtatious. The Grandmaster visibly likes it. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Hmm, yes. We were growing quite close.”

“Oh, well,” the Grandmaster winks. “I think the two of us can get closer though.”

Loki is too drunk to react in time when the Grandmaster pulls him flush against him. His drink sloshes in his hand, and Loki giggles at the spill on both his and the Grandmaster’s lap.

(He is not a cheery drunk by nature; luckily, the Grandmaster had just the thing for that.)

There is a scream in the other room, that dissolves into a gurgle. Loki barely hears it over the sound of his own giggles. The Grandmaster hands roam more than usual now that he has gotten Loki on his lap. Loki’s halfhearted protests are quickly interrupted by a glass of liquor pressed to his lips.

In his current state, Loki finds it all delightfully playful.

(He never quite remembers who it was who screamed. Despite his best efforts, he never quite forgets either.)

~*~

One morning, as he casts the finishing touches on the glamour meant to disguise the deep pockets beneath his eyes, Loki notices a smudge of paint on the dip of his throat, all the way down his chest, in a familiar cerulean color.

Ah, right. There had been a game, of some sorts. And Loki had…lost? Won?

It seems like an important detail.

But the memory doesn’t return, so Loki quickly wipes the incriminating paint away before stepping out under Asgard’s eyes.

**~*~**

“Grandmaster,” Loki says tentatively one day.

The Grandmaster has brought him to a fitting with his personal tailor, after one too many complaints regarding Loki’s sense of style. The two of them are alone in the dressing room now, waiting for a selection of fabric. It is as private a setting as they can hope for without being in either of their room.

“Yes, Lo?”

Loki hesitates, then decides to press his luck. “Did someone die during the party?”

“Which one?” The Grandmaster asks in open disinterest. He makes no effort in hiding his open leer at Loki’s half-dressed form, letting his eyes trail over him even as Loki continues to speak.

“It was,” Loki starts, then frowns when he realizes he cannot precisely date the incident. “It was not too long ago,” he finishes lamely, and hopes it’s true.

“Um, possible. Maybe? I’ve pardoned from life a lot of people, you know. It’s hard to keep track.” He frowns then, and finally meets Loki’s eye with a look that is more reproachful than worried. “You’re not, uh, you’re not mad about that are you?”

“Of course not,” Loki replies automatically.

“Sad about it?”

The Grandmaster’s tone is just as mild, his smile just as amiable, but Loki can recognize a warning when he hears one. As ever, the Grandmaster is not worried about being discreet about it. 

Really, he doesn’t know _why _he decided to press the issue now. The memory had come to him a couple days ago, and though he wished to ignore it, it kept creeping up on him, emboldened by the anxiety of not _knowing_ exactly what had happened. He hadn’t even been certain he hadn’t hallucinated the entire memory until a few seconds ago.

The Grandmaster’s warning and confirmation serve to jog Loki’s memory further, and some new details come to the forefront of his mind. No one else had batted an eye when it happened, and Loki really ought to have taken his cue from their reaction. That sudden death had obviously not been an isolated incident.

That is… Well, Loki is fairly certain he will never forget himself enough to be openly rude to his host. His princely education would make certain of it.

“Just… curious,” Loki finally says lamely. “Forget I even mentioned it. It is not important.”

“It _really_ isn’t,” the Grandmaster agrees. He settles back into his seat, snaps his fingers, and a servant Loki hadn’t even noticed comes forward with a drink. The Grandmaster

Loki remains dutifully silent and still until the tailor comes back with his assortment of samples. The speed with which he goes about his business suggests a certain weary habit.

**~*~**

“You have improved yet again,” Frigga says beaming. “My clever boy, you never cease to amaze me.” Loki swallows the praise with pride and the same sense of shame he feels whenever he successfully lies to his mother, a rare feeling until recently and one that has caused him to make his sessions with the All-Mother sparser.

“No, no that’s not it,” the Grandmaster sighs, and immediately wraps an arm around Loki’s waist and lays another over Loki’s own. “But don’t worry, I’ll show you as often as you need me to, sweetness.” Loki burns with shame at another failure, then burns with magic and thrill as he tastes the Grandmaster’s power, a sweet balm to the stagnation of his skills.

Those might have been the same day.

~*~

“How did your quest fare, brother?” Loki asks one day.

“And here I thought you did not care,” Thor replies sullenly. It is unlike Thor to nurse grudges like this; Loki’s rejection must have hurt more than he thought.

Loki purses his lips, meets his brother’s glare, and turns away.

_I could just rip the answer from you mind, _he thinks somewhat distantly. The thought is not quite as smug as it might have been, but it isn’t _not _that either.

It might be victory; it might be violence.

(Loki has had a harder time differencing the two, as of late.)

**~*~**

“I should return,” Loki murmurs one morning, even as the Grandmaster tries to cajole him into another game. “It had been a few days already.”

“Go? But you just got here!” The Grandmaster exclaims, brows furrowed. “You, uh, you arrived just last night!”

Loki blinks. “But… we spent three whole days on the Commodore…”

“That, uh, that was a whole week ago, Lolo! You clocked out right after that, actually. Went home for a few days to recuperate. Not that I can blame you, it was pretty intense, even for me. Well, no, not for me, but you get it!”

“Oh…” Loki says dumbly.

It does not sound quite right, but he cannot say it is unlikely.

~*~

“Any reason you have disappeared for a whole week?” Thor rumbles in displeasure.

“Go away Thor,” Loki says tiredly.

“Mother worries. Father is displeased.”

Loki doesn’t even have a reply for that. At least, not a fully honest one.

“I will apologize to them both. I was taken by a particular problem and needed some resources on another planet. I hadn’t expected it to take quite so much time,” he says, as placating as he can. “I am fine, of course.”

~*~

He is fine. He knows what he is doing.

Two days ago, he managed to undo one of the All-Father’s own spells which guarded the vaults and reknit it before he got caught. He had gotten a fetching enchanted ring for it.

That meant, of course, that these trips were more than worth a little exhaustion. He was hardly beset by hardship when he was here.

“Have a drink,” the Grandmaster says, and pressed a glass in his hand. “You can’t say no.”

Loki believes him. He has no choice but to believe him.

(And it doesn’t matter if it is a tease, a promise, a threat. They are all the same thing here, though Loki doesn’t realize just how poor in nuance his life has become.)

He downs the drink in one go. And he has fun.

**~*~**

So drunk. Loki has never been this drunk, he knows this and –

And he cannot –

He can’t… quite…

“Come on, sweetness,” the Grandmaster breathes against his cheek, “focus_._”

Loki is _trying_. He could almost cry, he is trying so very hard.

It had been another party. A fantastic one, even by Sakaarian standards. Loki had been drunk barely an hour in, but a pleasant kind of drunk. The kind that made him spirits higher and lighter than they could ever be on their own. Loki remembers his own laughter ringing in his ears, laughter all around. Blue, red, bright pink, the Grandmaster’s ever-present grin.

Music so loud it drowned out nearly everything else, until the Grandmaster had pulled him away from a tittering crowd, had pulled him flush against his chest and whispered in his ears:

“How about we do some magic, Lolo?”

And Loki had agreed readily, because it had been so long since he had felt any true improvement in his skills, and this is why Loki had come in the first place. Initially. Some time ago.

So Loki had jumped on the occasion, and the Grandmaster had laughed and winked at his guest as he whisked Loki away from the party.

They weren’t in Loki’s rooms now. These were much more luxurious.

The Grandmaster had pulled him onto the bed and had requested Loki show him a little trick. Something, anything, nothing flashy.

Loki had been so, so drunk, he could barely hold an illusion for more than a second.

Loki had flushed in embarrassment, and the Grandmaster had laughed in fond amusement.

Loki tried again, and failed again, so the Grandmaster had decided to guide him once more. “Once more, with feeling, Lolo,” and he had placed his hands on Loki’s side and let his magic course through him one more time.

And he had continued, more and more, pushing far more of it into Loki than he ever had before, until Loki was overflowing with it.

And he kept. On. Going.

And now he has stopped. Maybe. Loki cannot tell. His mind is in shambles, his seidr is humming in his veins. The Grandmaster’s mark in throbbing in his chest, and his hands are petting Loki’s neck and Loki’s focus is pulled apart in a thousand pieces as soon as he tries to gather it.

Loki is so, so drunk. On alcohol, on his own daring, on _power. _

(Not his own. Never his own.)

Norns, the Grandmaster’s magic is _everywhere_. It fills the entire room, seeping into every atom, into Loki himself even. Loki can feel it, more than he every has before. He understands now that any sights he might have had of it before was a glimpse, a mirage of the real thing. And how fortunate too, for he doesn’t know how he would

It feels overwhelming.

It feels so _good._

He must have felt this before. In passing. At a distance. It must be why he kept coming back, why he wanted so much to learn. He must have already known that power felt like this. That the _Grandmaster _felt like this. Like the birth of the universe itself.

Loki is burning, burning so very hot, and he wants-

He _wants._

“Please, Grandmaster,” he keens. “Please, I…”

“Please what, Lolo?”

Loki doesn’t know – or rather he does, somewhere in his addled mind, but he had no words for magic and power and relief from this heightened awareness of every atm of his being and _more. _

His clothes are damp with sweat, unpleasant and oppressive against his skin, and he cannot even begin to fathom how to vanish them away.

Norns, he is so very drunk.

“Please…”

Another swell of magic, more sparks and flames seeping from the Grandmaster’s palm, and Loki’s vision doubles, darkens, and he collapses completely against the Grandmaster’s chest.

This. This is power. This is what Loki wanted all this time.

It is too much, too good, too enticing and overwhelming. It is terrifying, in a primal, inexplicable way, a fear that sits deep in the pit of his stomach along with the heat and _power. _

There is a tear that escapes his eyes. It evaporates almost instantly under the magnitude of the energy filling this room.

He is hard, he realizes belatedly. He is hard, and panting, and dizzy and he _wants._

“Please, Grandmaster, please, please, please….”

The Grandmaster’s grin is far too wide; it fills the entirety of Loki’s vision, and his hands are cradling Loki’s face, comforting and clawing and not at all where Loki _needs _them.

“Please…”

“Oh, Lolo,” the Grandmaster breathes out. “You are just delicious.”

The mark on Loki’s chest bursts inside him, sending white fire into his veins and up his spine.

He bucks his hips, and his trapped erection brushes against the Granmaster’s thigh. With it comes sparks of pleasure, relief, _want_, and he bucks his hips again. And again.

And again, and again and again. He _cannot stop. _

He is so, so drunk, and shame doesn’t come as he ruts against the Grandmaster’s leg, desperate and clumsy. The magic still swirls around him, lifting him and feeding his hunger until the only anchors left in the world are the friction on his groin and the Grandmaster’s hand gently petting his spine.

“Please, please, please…”

The Grandmaster laughs, high and loud.

Loki sobs as his release comes, blessed and welcome and too little, then sobs once more as oblivion takes him.

**~*~**

He wakes up in his bed.

His bed back in Asgard.

The most pathetic, miserable thing is that he is so hungover he goes back to sleep immediately. The implications come to him later, along with painful sobriety.

~*~

The memories never return fully. All that remains to him are fragments, disjointed scenes linked together by vague impressions. Enough to gather what occurred that night, not enough to string a coherent narrative.

Loki is so, so very grateful. What little is left is enough to make him burn with shame.

Norns, has he really…? But yes, yes he had, because that was one memory that did not wish to fade, and he knew every facet of it, from his moans to the shine of the Grandmaster’s teeth.

And, most treacherously of all, the spark of want that burned in the pit of his stomach and threatens now to reignite any second. The mere idea of losing any semblance of control is enough to make him want to claw at his own skin, and yet the memory of it could make him pant for more just as easily if he let it.

He cannot go back, not after that. He cannot risk losing sight of himself like that again.

(He knows he would, the second he steps back on that planet. He is a shameful creature.)

The Grandmaster has gotten what he wanted. So has Loki.

Their arrangement ends here.

~*~

The resolve is an easy one to hold, at first. Until his magic begins to suffer for it.

It is barely noticeable at first. A spell takes a second longer, requires his focus rather than a distracted flip of the wrist. Little bursts of effort, nothing catastrophic.

But seconds accumulate, focus can only take him so far, and soon he finds himself surrounded by incorporeal snakes that look about as lifelike as a child’s toy compared to what he could once do.

He is regressing. A mere week without a trip to Sakaar, and he is weak already.

How pathetic of him.

“Not regression,” his mother tries to sooth him. “Merely a level in your progression. You cannot improve so much all the time.”

But she is lying. He _knows _it.

_“How would you manage all that without me?” _the Grandmaster had asked. _“I suppose I wouldn’t,”_ Loki had replied.

He hadn’t thought it would be this painfully true.

~*~

_Please, Grandmaster, please, please, please…_

_Patience, kitten. You’re, uh, you’re the one who is keeping me waiting, really…_

Loki gasps as he wakes up. The sheets are tangled around his legs, sticking to his sweat-covered skin.

He flips onto his stomach and buries his head in his pillow, ignoring the hardness between his legs and the echoes of the Grandmaster’s voice in his ears.

Sleep, unsurprisingly, does not come.

~*~

“Can I come with you on your next quest?”

“I don’t know, brother. Will you be able to stand being in the company of so many witless buffoons?”

“Please… Thor…”

“…. Alright.”

**~*~**

He could always return. For a short while, politely refusing any liquor. Ask for a private session, make an excuse should the Grandmaster insist on anything Loki does not wish to provide. Resume their interactions with a clear head and a newfound restraint.

He could. He might.

(_Please, Grandmaster, please, please please…_)

Loki flees his own room.

**~*~**

“Brother….”

Loki startles forcefully pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Thor’s voice. He turns around, knowing his brother will be before him, yet is still surprised to see him when he does.

Thor is standing a few steps away, watching quietly as Loki finds his bearings. He looks concerned, once again, though Loki can hardly fault him. It has been decades since he has been able to sneak up on Loki. The fact that he has done so now speaks little of Loki’s state of mind.

But the courtyard had been isolated, with a only a bench and a small fountain to fill the silence, and it had been late in the evening so Loki had let his mind drift away, as it did so often these days…

And now Thor is here, taking a careful step towards Loki when says nothing in greeting or condemnation. “Are you well?”

Loki attempts a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, but his attempts at aloofness fall embarrassingly flat.

Fortunately, Thor does not comment on it. “I do not know,” he says instead, finally coming close enough to take a seat by Loki’s side. Loki does not stop him. “Then again, it is hard to know anything when my brother seldom speaks to me.”

Loki sighs. “You are irritatingly persistent at times.”

“And you irritatingly evasive,” Thor replies immediately. A pause. “You still haven’t answered.”

Loki closes his eyes. Thor is not usually so perceptive, or so careful with his words.

How worried he truly must be.

And Loki no longer has the heart to push him away.

“I am tired, Thor,” he murmurs, though he knows his brother will not hear all the confessions he infuses in those two words.

“Aye, that you must be, to wield the conversation so easily,” Thor says, a small smile tugging at his lips. When Loki does not return it, he sighs, and lets go of his attempt at levity. “What has happened, to make my brother so tired?”

“I do not know for sure. I barely noticed it happening.” Loki is not making the most sense, he knows; he also does not care. Thor will stay anyway. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t think you would either.” Loki sighs again, and lets his head fall back. He looks at the sky; it is night now, and the stars shine far brighter than they ever do on Sakaar. “It is nothing, I worry, but… Well, I merely hope I will not be too much of an embarrassment of a Prince.”

“On the quest?”

“…Yes.”

Thor frowns. “Of course there won’t be. Why should there be?” He places a hand on Loki’s neck. “I know not where these dark thoughts come from, but I have never known you to have done anything worthy of shame.”

“Well, if we base ourselves on things that you know, then it really doesn’t mean much.”

The muttered jibe is more familiar to Thor, and a relief. He smiles to himself, and doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t understand his brother, but he hopes the words have been enough to reassure.

(A more perceptive Thor might have pressed the issue. One more used to delicate conversations and the handling of fragile things might have found a way to rephrase the statement without chastising. Thor would be all those things, in a few years’ time.)

(Right now, he is young still, naïve still, and doesn’t yet realize just how naturally Loki sets up traps meant to wound himself as much as anyone else.)

**~*~**

He goes with his brother. During the whole two weeks, he occupies himself more, proves most helpful – though not nearly as exceptional as he would have dreamed just a month ago.

Thor takes great care to praise him and his skills. It is clumsily done, vaguely patronizing, but Loki doesn’t mind. Thor is too used to receiving acclaim to properly give it away, but in his efforts he manages to pull some bewildered compliments from the Warrior Four, and that is enough to heighten Loki’s spirits.

During the whole two weeks, Loki stays in his brother’s borrowed limelight and unwavering attention. The entire time, he is plagued by a strange sense that something is missing.

It is only when they return home that he realizes that “safe” was what he truly felt.

Loki goes to sleep and does not dream.

**~*~**

“Gee, uh, sleepyhead, you sure enjoy keep waiting?”

The voice is soft, nearly unobtrusive, and familiar enough not to be jarring. Loki might have kept on sleeping, were it not for the finger insistently tapping between his brows. He squeezes his eyes shut, turns away from the offending digit –

Then jerks wide awake as the owner of the voice finally registers.

“Grandmaster.”

He does not quite gasp, has too little breath in him even for that. In truth, he might have stopped breathing at all. It is hard to tell when the sole thing he seems capable of processing is the man before him and the horribly familiar bed he is now laying in.

The sheets are still the same color, his mind uselessly supplies. He remembers their color because after spending himself he had slumped to the side and had stared at them in a drunken, post-orgasmic stupor for the Grandmaster to get a washcloth.

“Did you miss me?” For once, the Grandmaster doesn’t ask the question with any sort of flirtation or cheek. In fact, his voice is nearly completely toneless. “Cause, uh, let me tell you, I missed you. You just… Just quit, cold turkey, not even a letter.” A pout, which is also a sneer, both clearly put upon yet no less effective in making Loki’s heart freeze. “It’s… It’s hurtful, really.”

There is a pause then, long and heavy. Loki’s cue for a response, perhaps even an apology. He ought to find something to say, ought to put his silver tongue to good use to quell the Grandmaster’s anger.

(His mind supplies a crass interpretation and solution to his own thoughts. Loki rejects it, seconds after wildly considering it. He despises himself.)

The Grandmaster is waiting, and Loki needs to make his case quickly, but...

But he is _in Sakaar_, and he had been asleep, and though his mind tries to shy away from all the implications it is too big a horror to possibly evade.

“How… How did I arrive here?” he asks, but he knows the answer. It is the same way Loki first made his way back to Asgard, the same way he was sent back after his shameful display. It was for the same reason that Loki first came back, and the permanent bait that sweetened itself with each additional reason Loki found to run away towards Sakaar.

Because the Grandmaster is _powerful_; all of Loki’s existence for the past months could be resumed to that simple explanation. The Grandmaster is powerful, and Loki is not.

“Oh dear, that’s… That’s another “I”, isn’t it?” The Grandmaster straightens himself, and only then does Loki realize that he made no effort to rise as he was being loomed over as he lay in bed. Sitting up does little to make up for it. “This isn’t about you, Lolo,” the Grandmaster tuts, before wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Or, maybe a little, but mostly it’s about… _us_. Our relationship, which you are not making any effort to upkeep.”

Loki swallows. “I apologize for my absence,” he says carefully, and slowly enough to give him time to think. He rises to his feet to stall further; the Grandmaster does not stop him. “The duties of a Prince can be time consuming at times.”

He is standing now, and the Grandmaster is sitting; the thought is little comfort, but Loki still clings to it as he steps around the bed to stand in front of the Grandmaster – a safe distance away.

“Really?” the Grandmaster drawls, his eyes lazily following Loki across the room. “Cause, uh, you sure seemed to have plenty of free time before. Did they just suddenly decide that you’re important now?”

The words sting, predictably. To be so casually called out on his weak lie feels like a blade is held to his throat. “I…” Loki starts again, then stops, unsure how to spin a decent reply.

Not unusual, in the Grandmaster’s presence. He had never let himself linger on that before.

He had never been very good at talking himself out of anything on Sakaar, had he? Looking back, he cannot think of a single time when he had won anything the Grandmaster hadn’t intended to give him in the first place.

All these misconceptions he had of his own power or his own control; how eagerly the Norns seem to wish to cure him of them.

His discomfort is obvious, and the Grandmaster obviously takes some pride in it. Rising to his feet, he casually readjusts the fold of his robes. “You really ought to switch to another pronoun, honey. I’m, uh, I don’t want to get impatient.” He takes a step forward.

Loki takes a step back.

The Grandmaster raises an eyebrow at that. His smirk is smug, yet playful, his posture casual yet every bit the predator. Part of Loki cannot believe that this man in garish clothes and makeup is the most terrifying being he has ever scene in his life.

(Part of Loki stares, and still sees all that he had admired and craved during the early days – still does. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it.)

“Gee, uh…. Kind of twitchy there, Lo, aren’t you? I can tell these things, you know?” The Grandmaster takes another step forward.

The air feels thicker, now. It clings to Loki’s throat and lungs with every breath, like sparkling syrup that never quite suffocates but it always _there._ Loki knows what it is, of course he does. The Grandmaster’s magic is painfully familiar in the way it makes his skin tingle, makes his chest glow and burn at the same time. He can tell in the way the room shifts around the Grandmaster, until he is all that remains among a collection of atoms and colors. 

(Loki’s clothes are the same eye-piercing colors; they are not the same ones he fell asleep in. His mind has just decided to inform him of that fact, for no apparent reason, and does not want to acknowledge that either.)

“Grandmaster…”

(It doesn’t matter what he wants.)

He takes another step back and hits the wall. It startles him so much he almost jerks forward back again, only he cannot because the Grandmaster is now too close, far too close, and the wall had been several meters behind him seconds ago until it obviously wasn’t.

The air is impossibly thicker still; it’s course over Loki’s body feels like a ghost of the Grandmaster’s own hand. It makes his heart beat faster still, his knees threatening to shake; and the burning heat in his chest starts creeping lower and lower, into the pit of his stomach, then lower still.

The Grandmaster doesn’t place his hand upon the wall to corner him further; he doesn’t need to. “It’s cute. Most people are chatter boxes once they get nervous, but you, uh, you’re just the opposite, you know? All mellow and go with the flow during the party, all words and quips when you’re wound up. But get you _real-ly_ rattled, and you, you just freeze up,” he finishes with a wink. “What’s the matter, Lolo?”

Loki’s mind is working both too fast and too slowly to respond. His eyes dart to the Grandmaster’s grin, his ever-golden eyes, and his hands that for once have not reached out to touch him; Loki prays they stay that way.

(Not because he thinks it will hurt; pain could never terrify him half as much as what the Grandmaster gives him.)

“What do you want?” he blurts out, far too plaintively and far too desperately – though then again, what does it matter? Whatever pride he once had has already been completely obliterated when he rutted and begged on the Grandmaster’s lap.

The Grandmaster beams at him. “See, that’s the first time you’ve asked that since… well, since you got here,” he says, sounding so very much like a teacher praising a pupil. “All this time, and you never once thought to give back a little.”

Then he reaches out to brush the back of his fingers along Loki’s cheek, and the familiar flare of magic comes with it. And despite everything, Loki’s response is still the same as always, all awe and thrill and _want. _

The heat in Loki’s stomach grows; shame makes a poor counterpoint to it.

“But, uh, what do I want…” the Grandmaster continues. He taps his lips in thought.

Loki follows every flick of that hand with bated breath.

_Just tell me, _he thinks wildly. _Just tell me and I’ll know what to do!_

(_Please, Grandmaster, please please please…._)

“What do I want…” the Grandmaster drawls once more, then winks. “Right now, uh... how about a kiss?”

It might have been a joke. Loki doesn’t take the chance.

He jerks forward, awkward and rushed, presses his lips to the Grandmaster’s with a fervor that might be passion if it were not so frantic. He feels the Grandmaster snake an arm around his back, all heat and magic, and in response grabs his robes and pulls himself forward.

He expects the Grandmaster to deepen the kiss; he is wrong. It stays perversely chaste, closed lips with perhaps a flick of tongue. So Loki is giving exactly what the Grandmaster wants, only at the same time he feels like he must be lacking not to illicit a more intense response.

And as usual, he feels skin, power, desire, and it feels good. He wants more of this; he ought not to, but he does. An increasingly loud part of him begins to whisper: he is sober this time. He has had less worthy bedmates in the past. The Grandmaster is clearly willing, and the drunken half memory had been _so good…._

The Grandmaster pulls apart first. He blinks a few times. “That was… well, points for enthusiasm. A bit clumsy,” he adds as an afterthought, even as Loki is still clinging to his robes and trying to catch his breath. He frowns, just a little. “That, uh, that wasn’t your _first_, was it? Or is it the nerves again?”

Blood rushes to Loki’s cheeks. Humiliation swells within him, crawls up his throat and stays stuck within it; his desire does not abate.

Such a shameful, shameful creature he is; the Grandmaster likes him just so.

“What do you want?” he repeats brokenly.

“I just want to help you,” the Grandmaster says gently. The hand on his back starts gently stroking up and down his spine. “You’re not, uh, letting yourself enjoy things. It’s not healthy, you know?”

Despite himself, Loki lets out an incredulous laugh. To his relief, the Grandmaster does not seem offended. “I’m serious, Lolo. You really ought to let loose.”

“I don’t want to,” Loki replies immediately, too quickly even to his own ears. “I don’t want to another drink, I don’t want to be here-”

“But see, Lolo, I think you _do_,” the Grandmaster interrupts gently. “I mean, I never _made_ you come here. So obviously, you were buying what I was selling.”

It’s true. Norns damn him, it is true, and Loki hates him for pointing it out. He hates himself even more though. He hates everything about this, including the fact that he apparently doesn’t hate it enough not to respond.

It makes his head hurt, and for a moment, Loki wishes he could return to the uncaring ignorance of his early days. Or do as the Grandmaster suggest, stop caring, for a little while, escape for the never-ending circle of desire and shame that has plagued him for the past weeks. He wishes it so much, but…

“I am a Prince,” he says, a reminder to the both of them. “I am a mage, and a Prince, and Aesir and I will not lower myself by-”

“Is that what this is about? Are you embarrassed? Oh honey, all those hang-ups,” the Grandmaster sighs, voice dripping with sympathy. “You know, I have a few things at the bar that can help with-”

Loki pushes him away.

It was an automatic gesture, born of another surge of panic and self-disgust and the need for the Grandmaster to _stop talking._ An in the moment, once shock has subsided, he even feels pride in himself, for finally doing what he ought to have done since the beginning.

The pride is short lived. He looks up, sees the Grandmaster’s expression, and oh, that’s new.

Loki is used to the more explosive sorts of anger, from his father, from Thor. The Grandmaster’s rage is nothing like that.

His gaze is flat. His eyes have lost all shine, looking now like two pits ready to swallow him whole.

The air is still.

“That… That was rather violent, Lolo.”

The voice is still soft, still level, but no longer mild. It is overflowing with cold anger, tinted with disappointment and condescension. The former makes Loki want to shrink on himself, the later infuriates him – and that is what he clings to as he draws himself higher, meets the Grandmaster’s flat stare with a glare of his own.

He is a Prince, he is a _god_, and he will not allow himself to be humiliated any further.

“Don’t come any closer,” he hisses through his teeth.

The Grandmaster barely acknowledges him as he takes a step forward. “You’re just all take and no give. I, uh, I might even think you were just using me.”

Loki has never been so keenly aware of just how dangerous the Grandmaster is, but for the first time since he has woken up here - for the first time in weeks, really – he feels much more clear-headed. And the most rational course of action now is to leave this place entirely.

The Grandmaster takes another step, and Loki reaches out for the shadow paths.

He quickly finds he cannot find them. The paths of Yggdrasil are as closed to him as if he had not a drop of magic in his blood.

It is hardly a surprise at this point.

_Well, at the point where I am at_, Loki thinks almost hysterically. He has already gone far beyond what the Grandmaster would tolerate. Might as well commit to it, and live up to the title he bears.

A true Asgardian would prefer death to dishonor, and right now, Loki is drunk enough on adrenaline to subscribe to that philosophy.

“Let me go,” he says stonily. He cloaks himself in defiance, even as he remembers what happened to the poor fool who had been inadvertently rude. “Let me go or kill me. I tire of your games.”

The Grandmaster stares at him, unblinkingly. He brings up his hand to his lips, taps them in thought.

His magic hangs in the air.

_Ah, this might well be death then, _Loki thinks. _So far from home…_

And suddenly, the prospect of his own demise feels far more real, and his stomach drops. Sakaar is a horrible place to die, really. No one will even know what would have happened to him, and if they ever find this place, they might conclude he died sometime between an orgy and a drunken rampage. It wouldn’t even be that far from the truth.

His mother will be heartbroken, he knows. His father, he doesn’t know what his reaction might be – perhaps it is a blessing that he won’t find out.

And Thor…

He can feel his bravado slipping away with each additional second. What a fool he has been, from beginning to end.

“Well, I guess you best be off,” the Grandmaster finally says with a shrug.

Loki’s thoughts grind to a halt. “What…”

“I mean, if it’s no fun, stop playing, I always say so,” the Grandmaster continues, and suddenly his grin is back in place. The rigid stillness leaves his limb, and his next step towards Loki is no longer a predatorial prowl but the casual saunter he usually sports. “Obviously, this isn’t doing it for you anymore. Just… a little too much for you to handle. I get it.”

So taken of guard is Loki that he doesn’t even have the good sense to move away from the Grandmaster has he once again closes the distance between them.

It’s obviously a trap, but why? Such a pointless ruse…

“Though, all that stuff about killing you, it’s… it’s a bit much,” the Grandmaster adds, brows furrowed. He sighs. “I couldn’t kill you, Lolo! You’re just… too precious.” He looks at Loki expectantly, and when faced with Loki’s warry stare, he pats him on the cheek, ignoring Loki’s flinch. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you. I… I feel bad. All those hang-ups, they just… they just don’t do you any good, do they? And the way you just cling to them – brrr.” He shudders. Is everyone in Asburg like that? Cause if so, they I don’t really see the appeal there.”

“Asgard is my home,” Loki says, doing his level best to ignore most of the Grandmaster’s tirade. “My place is there.”

“Hmm, for now. Let me know if that changes, right?” The Grandmaster’s says, bringing his hand up to gently brush his thumb against Loki’s chin. “And we’ll pick up where we left off.” He sighs. “You’re something special, Lolo, you know that?”

Even now, part of Loki cannot help but respond to the praise; he hates it.

It won’t matter soon. If the Grandmaster is sincere, then he’ll be home any second now. If he isn’t… well, very few things will matter then.

“Anyway, the door’s always open. In case you change your mind,” the Grandmaster says graciously.

“I _won’t_,” Loki vows, with all the resolve he can muster – which is painfully little.

The Grandmaster stares, smiles, and pulls Loki into a kiss.

He is much more intense this time, much more purposeful in the way he pulls Loki flush against his chest, fists his other hand in Loki’s hair. His tongue swipes at Loki’s lips, demanding entrance, and Loki is too taken of guard to think, so instinct takes over and he…

Kisses back. Presses into the Grandmaster’s chest. Moans at the sensation and at the taste the Universe on his tongue.

He pulls away just as quickly, but it is too late. His breath his short, his skin is flushed with want and shame, and the point has been made. And when Loki looks up towards the Grandmaster’s face, he finds the same careless, fond smirk ready to twist the knife.

“See, that was _much_ better,” the Grandmaster says. He winks. “See you soon, Lolo,” he says, placing a hand on Loki’s chest. “I won’t catch you this time.”

Then the hand on Loki’s chest pushes, and Loki falls back.

**~*~**

He crashes on his bedroom floor.

Loki gasps as his back hits a rug too thin to properly cushion his fall. He gasps again as he hears the sound of _something_ snapping, a sound that echoes all the way into his soul.

Then pain explodes in his chest, and he can no longer gasp at all.

It is like being stabbed in the heart, if the blade somehow turned into flames. Reflexively, he tries to bring his hands to clutch at his heart, only he cannot; his limbs will barely move. Like they are being drained of strength, drained of blood

Magic is pouring out of him, and with it seems to go his very core. In his mind’s eye, he can see his body crumbling to dust, veins collapsing onto themselves as Loki is drained of _everything_. 

Only that is not the case. Instead, he is just lying pathetically on the floor, helpless and weeping as all of his magic

But no. Not his magic, never his; it had all be borrowed from the very beginning, and he had been stupid, stupid, _stupid _to think otherwise. Arrogant and naïve and _stupid_, and now he is going to die on his bedroom floor and perhaps even with a smear of blue lipstick on his lips. Everyone will know what kind of creature Loki was, such a foolish…stupid… _weak…_

Loki passes out, self-recrimination and disgust following him all the way into oblivion.

**~*~**

Consciousness comes back slowly, painfully. It gives him enough to remember the humiliating journey that led him to this moment, to the healing wards and the private room he finds himself in.

He feels a presence beside him. He turns his head and see his mother kneeling by his bedside.

“My son”, she says gently, her eyes filled with worry. “You have given us quite a fright.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki murmurs, knowing she will never be able to understand how much he means it. “I am so sorry.”

**~*~**

Of course, he can never admit to all that has happened; it would ruin him for good, with shame and punishment and the obliteration of what trust his family has in him.

So, Loki does the one thing he is good at: he lies.

He spins a tale of experimentation in rune magic and arcane spells. The story is not his best, with gaping holes and inconsistencies, but it only serves to sell the idea that he is an arrogant fool dabbling with magic he does not understand.

So, a more flattering version of the truth.

Thor comes to visit him, full of relief at finding him well. He believes Loki’s lie completely and urges him to never let himself be so consumed by his research ever again.

Loki nods, and smiles, and lies some more. Thor, too kind and too foolish, believes him and smiles in return, like every worry has faded from the world.

His father comes to visit him as well. He chides Loki for his recklessness, urges him to take this incident as a lesson, and leaves shortly afterwards. Loki bears the weight of his disappointment in silence.

He barely resists the urge to cry.

~*~

A few days later, Loki is well enough to return to his chambers. At the end of the week, he has completely recovered.

Life goes on.

Thor quickly loses the habit of knocking on his door and approaching carefully. His soft tones quickly give way to the loud, boisterous voice that is his nature. He fights proudly, and then enjoys the following feasts

Loki never lingers at those. The alcohol is never sweet enough for his taste. He does not like being swallowed by a crowd of admirers.

Life goes on.

In the early days, Loki often wakes up relieves to find himself still in Asgard and strokes his chest whenever the thought of Sakaar comes. He slowly loses both habits as time goes by. What he never loses is the hint of frustration whenever a spell requires any sort of effort, and he remembers a time it was not so.

Life goes on.

He never speaks of the Grandmaster, and slowly, he stops thinking of him constantly. Stops seeing him in ever swash of gold fabric, stops feeling his gaze on his whenever he mingles at any event. Eventually, he takes new bedmates, and loses himself in such pleasure without remembering what came before.

The dreams full of pleading and desperation never quite go away; they are manageable.

Thor will be crowned King soon. His father urges him to behave, to act the dutiful brother and future advisor. Not to make trouble, not to do anything that might shine poorly on the house of Odin. These next few years are too important; Thor is too important.

Nothing noteworthy has happened to Loki. He is still the second Prince. He will likely always be the second Prince, and nothing more.

_I chose this,_ Loki thinks. Numbly, at first, then more and more bitterly as years go by. _I chose Asgard. _

Of course, it hadn’t been much of a choice. It had been the only acceptable option, because even in his worst moments the longing that came with thinking of Sakaar’s parties and magic could not eclipse the same that burned in the pit of his stomach. Shame at what had happened, at what he still dreamt of even now. Shame that he can think of the luster, shine, and decadence that the Grandmaster offered, recognize it as the trap it is and still yearn for it. Even years after his escape and hard won dignity.

Of course, he hasn’t truly escaped; the Grandmaster sent him away. And he hasn’t truly _won _anything.

He never has gained everything the Grandmaster hadn’t been willing to give him; not even the remains of his dignity.

But Loki has that at least, and his status, and his pride. He cloaks himself in all three and continues on with his life. He meets with Thor, sees his brother smile at him, then look right through him as he basks in his ever-present swarms of admirers.

Loki watches, and bitterness brews. There was a time when he was the sole focus of the room; he tries not to remember that.

**~*~**

Later, Loki is hanging over an abyss, as the Bifrost and his life shatters around him. Later, he is nothing but grief, despair and self-hate.

He is still clinging to Gugnir. Still clinging to Asgard, to what he thought was his life. Everything is still; time has stopped.

There is a choice to be made; somewhere in his shattered soul, Loki is aware of that.

Above him, Thor, bright and golden, like Asgard. Like all that Loki is not, and never had a chance of being. Never a Prince, never a brother, just golden plating over a rotten core, and shame in his filthy bones and monstrous flesh.

Behind him, the Void, wide and hungry, ready to swallow him hole and promising oblivion.

And further beyond that, Sakaar. Somewhere at the very edge of the Universe.

Loki is nothing but grief, despair, and self-hate. He is a lie, a shameful secret, a rot in the house of Odin. He doesn’t want to be any of those things anymore; he doesn’t want to _be _anymore.

_You know, the good thing about you falling is that I’m right there to catch you._

What does it matter, how he destroys himself? He honestly doesn’t have a preference anymore.

Behind him, the Void screams and churns. Behind him, he hears music and the sound of a laughter he has never managed to forget.

Loki closes his eyes.

He lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> Side note, mousiesshi was my beta for the Kylux Big Bang. Rereading this fic on my own has given me a *glimpse* of what she had to go through....Oo
> 
> I am probably going to have to go through this again to pick out more mistakes...


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